


The Mist-Covered Mountains

by Ninjathrowingstork



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Dyn Jarren needs a hug, F/M, GUESS WHO DOESN'T HAVE TO CHANGE ANY MAJOR STUFF I'VE ALREADY PLANNED AFTER THE FINALE???, Gen, Mandalorian Culture, Mandalorians being awesome and badass, Mando'a, Slow Burn, So many Mandalorians omg, and he shall have it, ok to podfic, using both spellings of his name since the fandom's version looks better imo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21984580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ninjathrowingstork/pseuds/Ninjathrowingstork
Summary: Following cryptic directions to a place where he and the kid can find somewhere safe for a while, Dyn Jarren finds what he least expects and is welcomed into a hidden clan of Mandalorians. After learning more about them and the worlds they'd left behind, he begins to suspect that the Way he was taught to live was not always how his people had lived.
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Original Character, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Original Female Character(s), dyn jarren/original female character
Comments: 45
Kudos: 129
Collections: Movies





	1. Chapter 1

It'd been days since they made landfall, putting their pursuers farther and farther behind them. He'd never been to this sector before; the work had never taken him this far, but from the last moon they'd stopped on to refuel, he could tell it hadn't been hit as hard by the Empire's collapse. He couldn't say yet what that'd mean for business, but there was a chance it'd mean he and the kid would be safer. It's what kept him going this far off the main hyperspace routes, the old man at the last 'port who'd taken one look at him, at his Beskar and the worn rifle on his back, and said the planet he was looking for was out this way. He wouldn't elaborate, just that the main world in the Tesaro system would have something worth the trip out. Now here he was, farther across the mid-rim than he'd been in ages, possibly ever. A small noise behind him made him look back at the cause, the cause of all of it, if he was being honest with himself. ( _Gonna have to stop for food for the kid soon. This place had better take credits or have work.)_ The kid was staring at him with those big dark eyes and playing with the control lever cap like they weren't dangerously low on rations.They'd need to refuel, too. If this was another wild Mynock hunt, they'd be stuck until he could get the ship back in the air. 

With a beep, they dropped out of hyperspace and into orbit around Tesaro Three, and soon the surface of the planet was stretching out under them. He flicked the switch to send their reg code to the the main tower, and a voice came back telling them to dock in hanger six at Pu'ah Station. As they entered the atmosphere and the mountains and trees of the area became visible, something about one of the mountain ranges near the coastline caught his eye, a strange shape or texture that didn't belong and then was gone as they sped by over the trees on their approach to the spaceport. 

Pu'ah station turned out to be a small coastal town with the spaceport on the inland side. When he opened the door, the wave of salty evening air swept up and under his helmet and reminded him how many days he'd been in the confines of the Crest. And also that it was nearly time to change out that atmosphere filter again. 

"Well," he looked down at the kid toddling at his side, "if we don't find anything, at least this place is quiet, and I might be able to scrape together a few credits more for food." With the kid following slowly, he headed to the town of wood-and-metal structures. In even the smallest town with a spaceport there's a bar or cantina where the spacers gather, and Pu'ah station's was a low brown timber structure overlooking the water. Sliding into a seat in the corner, he looked around at the patrons from a half dozen different worlds. It was quiet, even compared to the backwater of Sorgan, but while it was in no way prosperous, it was more. . . homely. A weather-tanned woman wiping her hands on a rag slid between the tables and up to his corner, and he braced himself for the inevitable questions about his armor, or the kid, or his people that he got in the more isolated watering holes. 

"Olarom, Jatne vod."

Caught by surprise at the Mando'a and her formality, he answered out of habit from the lessons drilled into him as a child, "ori'vor'e." Then it sunk in what she'd said. "How- how do you know-?"

"Had to make sure you are who that armor says you are under there. Gotta be sure, you know?"

Pushing down the burning curiosity at just how this woman knew the tongue of his people, he started again. "The kid and I are looking for somewhere safe, and were told this is where to come. Can you help us?"

The older woman cocked her head, grinning at him. "Ah, this is your first time coming out, then? Well, you'll want to follow the coast road north until you reach the stone, you'll know which one when you get there, and then take the trail that cuts inland until you reach the foothills. Someone will show you the rest of the way from there, I'm sure."

"But that still doesn't tell me-"

"Ah ah ah, you should know we never talk about it down here. Safer for everybody, you know?"

"Then we're going. The sooner I can start out, the better." And he moved to stand.

"You'll want to wait until morning, it's a good half-day's walk, and your child will have a rough time of it in the dark. Sit, stay and have something to eat, and get a fresh start in the morning."

Nodding, he conceded her point. "Just some food for the kid, then."

She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. "I'm sorry I don't have any private rooms for you to eat in. We _are_ safe here if you want food also, but I understand that these are dangerous times for your kind and it's your first time here, so I'll wrap you up something to take with you."

"I-thank you, that's-"

Before he could finish, she'd turned and headed back to the bar, leaving him wondering how this woman knew about Mandalorians. ( _And she spoke Mando'a? What's such a secret out there that they'll only tell a Mandalorian?)_

Later, after the kid had eaten and he'd paid for the meal and the food the woman had handed him in a basket made from what looked like reeds, he and the tiny child returned to the ship. As he reached for the door control, something made him pause before hitting the button. His stomach was growling at the smells coming from the small basket that made it through his helmet, but he couldn't bring himself to shut off the fresh night air filling the ship's belly. Turning slowly, he looked out over the empty ground of the spaceport to where the planet's three moons, lavender, red and teal, hug over the dark ocean. He sat, lowering himself to the floor of the ship, sitting in the middle of the open hatch door. Slowly, hesitantly, he lifted the helmet off and set it beside one knee ( _is this private enough? Is this secret enough, armorer? Surely this must be permitted by the Way of our people?)_ For a moment, he allowed himself to bask in the small luxury of the ocean breeze tugging the waves of his hair up from where they were plastered against his scalp. In the dim light of the moons and the lights on control panels, he tugged off first one glove, and then the other, letting them fall beside the silvery helmet. The kid, who'd been making sleepy sounds all during the walk from the bar, crawled up on one of his legs and he tucked it in the corner of his elbow. "Go to sleep, ad'ika, we're getting an early start tomorrow."

With the child asleep, he began to look through the parcel of food in the basket. It held what, in the dark, tasted like a kind of fresh seed bread, sliced to hold smoked fish so soft that it melted in his mouth. After weeks of eating ration bars, the fresh food was so agonizingly good he was grateful yet again that there was no way for anyone to see the expression of bliss he was sure he was making. As much as part of him wanted to savor the rich, fresh food, habit and training had him devouring it in only a few bites and reaching back into the basket to check for anything he'd left. There was a small, sealed container of what smelled like the same broth she'd given the child, which he allowed himself to savor a little longer. That just left a crisp little pastry that turned out to have been cooked around a soft baked winter fruit in a spiced syrup. If the faces he made while eating the fish had been embarrassing, he was sure the expressions, and sounds, he made while eating the pastry were considered obscene on several planets. Finally, he was done with the packed meal, and while it wasn't much, really, it was more satisfying than anything he could remember eating since. . . ( _since that last meal on Sorgan.)_

Standing, carefully so he didn't wake the kid, he summoned the floating cradle and set the tiny green bundle inside before collecting his gloves and helmet from the floor, leaving the empty food basket beside the door. For a long moment, he allowed himself to breathe the fresh night air one more time, then closed the hatch door with a press of the button, and paced across to his compartment and narrow bunk. With the helmet set beside the cot within easy reach, it was a moment's work to unfasten his belts and holsters, hanging them by the head of the bunk, and slip out of the vest that held the bulkiest plates of armor, and from his boots. Once everything was arranged for hasty dressing and the floating cradle was inside the small room, he shut and secured the door, stretching out on his own bunk and pulling the thick fabric of his cloak across himself. 

They started out early the next morning, before the sun had time to burn through the layer of fog that had rolled in from the ocean overnight. He'd slept restlessly in the cramped bunk, the fresh salt air an unfamiliar element in the little ship. Now, stretching out cramped muscles he slipped back into his worn gear and the armor he'd never had a chance to paint in his colors, if he'd had any, and headed up the road. With the kid staring out at the world over the edge of the cradle, the small pod floated after him as he trudged up the dirt road that wound along the coastline. "You think we'll even find anything up where she told us?" At this point, he knew he wouldn't get a response, but it felt. . . good, to be talking to the kid, knowing it might not understand him and wouldn't reply. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed just being able to talk to someone until he'd decided to keep it. "Maybe another shitwater village like we found on Sorgan. You remember that?" A tiny trill was the only response. "You're probably right, if we're lucky I'll find us somewhere to bunk for the night, maybe do some guard work. Rather not take on any more merc' work now, not with how the last few have gone." Still, work was work, especially out here, and he knew he'd take whatever shelter or credits were offered. The rifle over his shoulder was a familiar weight as the road wound north, rising up to hug the edge of the cliffs as the elevation grew as they progressed. 

It was close to mid-morning when he reached a fork in the road, the smaller path splitting off the main road to wind up several dozen meters into the tree cover that had been growing taller and thicker as they'd progressed. "Ok, the old lady said something about it being the one when we find a specific rock, and I'm not seeing-" Along the mountain path were a half dozen rocks that stood slightly taller than his own height, stretching from the fork back halfway along the clear stretch of the road. As he took a step to stare along them from the fork, their seemingly random shapes suddenly lined up to form a new pattern, one he'd seen hundreds of times before. "That's- it's our Mythosaur skull". There, in the stone lines was the emblem known the galaxy over as the sigil of the Mandalorians. ( _Is this connected to how that old lady knew our speech?)_ With a silent shrug and a glance down at the kid hovering beside him, he turned from the ocean road and headed past the standing stones towards the forest. Whatever they'd find, whoever was there, it was bound to be interesting. 

The canopy of the forest closed in over him, the trees now a blueish-green conifer that blocked out most of the light. As he'd climbed, the road had continued to wind up to the northwest, barely more than a dirt trail in places. Taking advantage of a fallen tree, he stopped to sit, mentally excusing this as a chance for the kid to get out and stretch his legs. _(Could do this hike alone, easy, but the lil' womp rat needs a chance to move around)._ Still, he was grateful for the chance to rest after the uphill walk, even if it was far too open to risk taking off his helmet for a drink of water. With the filters in his visor dialled down to the lowest setting, he took in the quiet forest; there could be any number of hidden threats, but he hadn't seen any places that looked like convenient landing zones from the air, and the road seemed too rough for transporting cargo. A small part of him wanted to see what it looked like without the visor, to smell the air without the helmet's air filters, but he pushed it aside and tucked the kid back into his carrier. 

He kept climbing, following the road as it turned more northwards, and he could just see the crest of a mountain over the trees in the distance. The terrain began to level out, and soon the trees began to thin out, and the road took a sharp turn to the right where the sunlight filtering in told him there was a clearing before he rounded the bend. As he approached the turn, the sound of . . . something finally made it to him through the trees. ( _fierfek_ _, that's a battle up there)._ The sounds of armor plates crashing together and shouts were familiar, but there was something. . . off, that he couldn't place. Leaving the floating pod behind, he smoothly cleared the bend in the trail, running along the treeline in a crouch as he headed towards the clearing. He must have tripped some invisible beam, because a sharp _beep_ and a small silver device on the side of a tree he mentally kicked himself for not noticing before made him take his eyes off the approach for a moment. A moment was all it took for the small, shiny round object to come arcing out of the trees at him, whistling as it fell. _(Shit, too slow)_ he cursed again, reaching for the blaster at his side, knowing it'd be too late anyway if the thing exploded.

An instant before he could bring his piece up, however, a streak of red and gold rocketed out of the clearing after the object, nimbly picking it out of the air just as his bolt exited the barrel of the blaster. Instead of a grunt or curse of pain, or the explosion of machinery from a destroyed droid, it glanced off of armor with a flash of light and the figure rolled in the air to land in a smooth crouch, pulling the metal sphere down to the ground with it. 

" _Su cuy'gar. Me'vaar ti gar?_ You're a jumpy _vod,_ come to join the game?" The woman's voice came out filtered through a helmet that was as familiar to him as those of his own clan. She was another Mandalorian. 

_**Haar'chak, who was this di'kut who didn't have the brain cells to turn his blaster down when shooting at the gunnery drone? And I thought I knew everyone who's coming here this year, but I don't recognize this Beroya with his shiny new unpainted Beskar'gam. At least he can shoot well. Ouch.**_


	2. A Field Full of Mandos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What had sounded like a battle and appeared to be an attack turn out to be his kin, but not like the clan he'd known so well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to have the full game at the end, but the chapter was getting long and I wanted to get this up before writing out how capture the flag works when part of each team has jetpacks, so that'll have to wait until the next chapter.

"I- I'm not . . ." Startled by the the woman - the Mandalorian woman's landing, he found himself lost for a moment. _(Who the fierfek is she? Is this part of another covert hiding in another hole in these hills?)_ Shaking off the confusion at her arrival he holstered his blaster. "I was told in town that I could find shelter here. Safety, for myself and. . . and the kid." As the carrier floated up beside him at the command from his gauntlet, he dipped his helmet towards it slightly. 

The woman stood, smoothly, tapping something on the side of the plasteel sphere and its lights and jerky attempts to escape her grasp cut out. She stood tall, he noticed, her helmet only a few inches lower than his own. "Really is your first time up here then? Guess you walked up all the way, so _m_ _orutar, vod._ Our _al'verde_ will want to meet with you, mostly to hear how you learned about this place, but they're all out on patrol for now." 

_(They? How many more of our people are here?)_ Before he could ask, she spun and began jogging back towards the clearing down the path. 

"C'mon, we need someone to play rear guard for now. 

_(Play? So not a battle then?)_ The sounds of fighting had stopped, he realized, and he followed the retreating figure down the path, the floating carrier several paces behind him. "What- what was that thing, on the tree back there?" He had so many other questions, but that seemed like the most simple to start with. 

"That?" She threw a glance back over her shoulder at the tree, and the light again reflected off the deep red of her helmet. "Oh, that. Proximity detector. Mostly right now it's marking off the back of the field, that's what brought this," she hefted the sphere in her gloved hand slightly, "down on you. Rear gunnery drone for our game."

"Your. . . game? Like-" _(what was it they used to play in the training yards?)_ "like _get'shuk_?"

"Like. . ." In what to him was a surprisingly un-Mandalorian response, she threw her head back and let out a laugh that was unusually bright and pretty coming through her helmet. "No, it's not really like that, it 's something that we invented ourselves, mostly."

 _(We?)_ But before he could ask the question aloud, they reached the clearing and he saw them; the field ahead of them was full of armoured Mandalorians. _(My people, I didn't know so many of us still survived.)_ At least two dozen of them were standing or sparring in small groups, and a knot of them in the center appeared to be arguing over something. The second thing he noticed was their _colors._ While a handful wore the same deep red and dark grey colors of the woman he still found himself following out onto the field, there gold and a vivid sky blue, two women he could see in shades of black and grey accented with white, and more that he couldn't pick out yet. Yet again, he found himself grateful for the relative security of the helmet as he stared in awe at the field of warriors, his people, standing and sparring and. . . and playing he realized, with none of the grim intensity he'd always seen in the clan who raised him and the corps where he'd trained. 

Ahead of him, the woman in red broke into a trot towards the group in the middle of the field, holding the small round drone in her hand aloft. "I caught it! We've got a newcomer who set off the boundary alert, vod'e, and the kriffin' thing almost got itself shot for real."

The circle fanned out to greet her, capes and kamas flying as they spun to welcome her back, and revealed two other men in the same deep, glossy red armor as his guide, one with bronze tracery around his eyes and the other, taller with copper patterns, different than the woman's, as well as a man and a woman, both slightly shorter than the trio, in patterned gold and the most brilliant blue he could remember seeing on armor before. _(Kriff, they're really not trying to hide, are they?)_ It was a new realization, something he couldn't remember seeing since his training in the corps before the fall of Sundari; his people so relaxed and bold out in the open, and even then most of the vod'e he'd trained with had worn the dull blue-and-red armor of their clan. Either these Mandalorians had never lived life on the run, always looking over their shoulders for Imperial pursuers or having to hide their numbers, or they were too _jare'la_ to know any better. _(Can't be that, though. They'd never have made it this long by being kriffing stupid like that.)_

They reached the four just as the other armored figures began to approach them. Distantly, he noticed how well equipped they all were, despite not carrying blasters. _(Ok, relax. They probably won't attack you without some warning._ ) 

" _Tion'ad ibic?"_ It was the shorter of the men in red. His voice sounded light, younger than his own, and with more of a curious tone than any expected hostility. It was a warmer welcome than he'd had in some places. 

"No idea, _vod'ika._ He just showed up, so now we can get someone to take Gal ' _ika's_ place. You're not playing any more with that shoulder today, not on my team." 

The man in blue and gold had one arm held close to his chest, he noticed. With an annoyed tilt, the blue helmet stared levelly at his guide. "Zil, why don't we just _ask_ the man who he is and if he even wants to play with us?" 

_(Zil? Is that her name? And Gal? Or is that something else in our tongue that I've forgotten?)_

Beside her, the taller red-armored man aimed a playful cuff at her helmet, which she blocked. "C'mon, _ori'vod,_ the man looks dead on his feet after the trek up here. You did walk here, right, _ner vod?_ First time making it finally?" 

It took him a moment to realize that the last had been directed at him after all their joking. "Uh, yeah. With the kid here. They told me in town what road to take, and that someone would show me the rest of the way." Again, he cursed the still-healing ribs that made flying distractingly painful. "I- I haven't been through here before, but I was told we'd find someplace safe here. 

For a moment, the other five helmets exchanged silent, blank stares, but something he couldn't catch must have passed between them, because with a shrug from his guide they turned back to him and the floating carrier, seeming to notice the kid for the first time. The shorter man in red dropped to one knee, followed by the woman in blue and gold. "Is this your kid?" Her voice, even through distortion of the helmet, sounded even more youthful than the man's. "What is he? I've been around a bit, and never seen his species before." One red-plated glove gently stroked the kid's head. For a moment, his hand wanted to fly to his blaster, or smack the stranger's hand away from the- his kid, but these were both his kin, he supposed, and the man had no hostility in his motion, only curiosity. 

"Uh, yeah. I don't know what he is, I'm just raising him until we can find his people." 

"I sense a very long story in there, _Beroya,_ but for now, since it's your first time around and I don't recognize your house," the man in blue and gold nodded at the sigil on his shoulder, "what can we call you?"

"I. . . we're all of Clan Mudhorn. It's still a. . . new thing. And my House doesn't like to announce their presence anywhere, not after the Purges." _(Or even who they are.)_

At the mention of the purges, the gathered Mandalorians stilled as one, and the clearing suddenly fell silent. 

"So. . . you're from one of the lost houses? Our wandering _vod'e?"_ It was the red woman, _(zil?)_ who stepped in to grasp his arm above the vambrace. "Well then, you've been told right, and will indeed find shelter and welcome here. The doors and hospitality of our _bral_ are always welcome to those of our people who come looking for the safety of hearth and home." Her tone had shifted into something more formal, almost regal, and without thinking about it he realized he was grasping her arm back in what he distantly remembered was a traditional greeting for their people. "Anyway, Mudhorn _vod,_ do you have a name?" 

And there it was. "I- I'm not used to. . . I guess I can't exactly expect to just be called 'Mando' here then, I guess, but my name, we don't really. . . not safe. . ." he trailed off, shaking his head at his poor attempt at humor. Didn't they know it wasn't safe out there? That their people never revealed their names after they'd been recorded, not after that terrible night and any chance of a stable life had been ripped from them and - and a cold tendril of _something_ began to wrap itself around his spine, that something, somewhere, was terribly, horrifically wrong, and he couldn't tell if it was with these others or with _him._

"Hey," it was the man in blue and gold again. "We've gotta call you something if you do take my spot in the game, and you're _Mando'ade,_ so _aruetii_ would be rude, so you'll be 'Mudhorn' until you give us anything else to call you. By the way, I'm Galen."

 _(Galen? Do these people so easily give away their names?)_ Half-numb with surprise, he turned to clasp the man's arm in greeting. "Su'cuy" 

The woman in matching armor rose to stand by him. "Iris. Demaris, really, but everyone calls me Iris." She grasped his arm in turn. "House Teslaginn, clan _Vhekad_ with my brother here." With her free hand, she hooked a thumb at Galen. 

Then it was the red woman's turn. "Zilla, Zilla Saltheel. And my _vod'ike_ here are all clan _Cerar_ of house Teslaginn."

The shorter one nudged her out of the way with one shoulder. "Hey, we're the same age, _di'kut._ I'm Tristan, and this tall _vod_ is our little brother Kai."

"But everybody calls me 'Kit'" 

"I- thank you for letting me stay here. We've been travelling for- for a long time now."

"Hey, introductions can wait until later, we've only got time left for one more round!" It took him a moment to realize that the shout had come from one of the women in grey and white. "Zil', get your new friend up to speed and either play or get off our field!" Her words were met with good-natured hollering from around the clearing. Together, the five armored figures around him turned and led him off to one side of the field.

"Don't mind them, they're wary of newcomers until we know how they are on the field."

"Zil means during the game, not fighting." There was a friendly glare in Iris' voice, he though he heard. 

He tensed for a moment, in both surprise and a frisson of a pain from his healing injuries, when one of the men - Tristan, he thought, clapped him playfully on one shoulder. It faded quickly, and he found himself relaxing from the warm sunlight and the promise of security and the easy manner of his new companions. He must have made some noise, though, and Zilla's helmeted face tilted up at him questioningly. 

"You good? Any injuries?"

"I. . ." instinctively, he wanted to keep his hidden injuries a secret, but he dimly remembered someone telling him long ago there was no shame in injury taken in a well-fought battle. "I was caught in an- an explosion a few weeks ago, and my- my ribs and back are still healing. A- a droid patched me up afterwards, but then the fight after, and being on the run-"

At that, they all stopped to stare at him, incredulity showing through their helmets. 

"And you walked all the way up here like that?" Iris's voice had sharpened with surprise. 

"What kind of explosion" Tristan asked mildly. 

"It was an E-WEB canon that exploded. . ."

"Yeah, no, you're not going on the field like that. C'mon, there's no reason to make it worse out there until we can get you in some bacta." Silently, they all trailed after Zilla. 

"I- I can still fight" He wanted to kick himself for how thin and defensive his own voice sounded in his own helmet. "If you need someone for-"

"Yeah, no need to make our new _beskar'vod_ take my position if he's more injured than I am. I'll just, you know, not use my right arm."

"Hey _ori'beskar,_ you're in the rear guard and got hurt pulling a stupid stunt, it's not like the spot's that dangerous if you do what you're supposed to," interrupted Tristan. "Let him at least try, Gale."

"Ladies?" Kai looked at Iris and his sister. "You're our team captains, it's your call." 

For a moment, the two women put their helmets together, before, shrugging, they both turned back to him. "Ok, you're in, because my idiot brother keeps dislocating his shoulder and he's our best pilot. Zil, you wanna tell him the rules? 

_(A game? When was the last time I actually-?)_ But something about the isolated clearing and the familiar shapes of their helmets and armor had put him at ease, and he realized he _wanted_ to join whatever game they were playing, to be one of them. 

"So it's like _get'shuk,"_ Zilla explained as he piled his rifle and, with some reluctance, his blaster, with the small armory of weapons he found on the side of the field, "except we made some. . . changes, letting players use jetpacks and dodge these things." Raising the sphere she still cradled slightly, she pointed out the controls on the top. "Gunnery drone, pain in the _shebs,_ but it's enough to know you're downed and have to wait in the enemy _mircir,_ their fort until a teammate makes it across to spring you out."

"Hey, start from the beginning, Zil," the taller figure in red playfully threw a kick at her shin plate. "She came up with this mostly back when we were kids, and gets a bit carried away."

In response, she swung an arm that landed with a clack against his chestplate. "Slow down, _di'kut,_ I'm getting there."

"What exactly _are_ we playing?" The interruption was as much to cut off their lighthearted sparring that made something in his chest twist with a pain he hadn't felt in ages as it was to genuinely ask the question. 

The five helmets all turned to face him, and he could swear they were smirking at him. 

"Well," Tristan began, "about that. . ."

Galen's shifted to face the others spread across the field. "Mando'ade! What's our game called? We playing Mando Ball today?" _Mando and?_

A mixture of groans and "bal tion?" echoed back to them across the field. _And what?_

"Old joke, don't mind them," cam Iris's chirped reply. We've mostly been doing this since we were small. It's actually _ke'mirci rugam_. Imaginative, I know."

For a moment he turned the words over, making sure he wasn't missing anything. "steal. . . the ball?" 

Three sets of red shoulder bells shrugged in reply. "Hey, we were kids messing around with jet packs, and it was barely like _get'shuk_ anymore, but we didn't know what else to call it, so it stuck" Tristan added. 

"Now go play," Galen jumped in, "I'll watch the kid and not do anything else to my shoulder while you try to kill each other without me"

"Ok, so the rules. . . " Zilla grabbed his arm as they led him onto the field. A few minutes later, and he was standing in a back corner, down the tree line from the path where she'd brought him in before. Around the field, the different armored figures had taken up position as Iris and one of the monochrome-painted women both approached the center with a gunnery drone in each hand. At a nod, they flung the four spheres into the air where they flew halfway back to each end of the field. 

" _Oya!"_ A shout went up, and the game was on. 

_He's not just a jumpy vod, he's. . . I don't know. Lost? Sa-Buir talks about the wandering clans she meets sometimes, but they're still Mando'ade for the most part, from what she says. This newcomer seems almost wild, startled by our camaraderie and welcome, as though he was ready for us to attack him. What happened to you, ner vod? Why is your beskar'gam unpainted and bright like it's straight from the forge, but your kute looks like you just got back from a long campaign?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO GUESS WHO PLANNED STUFF OUT AND BARELY HAS TO CHANGE ANYTHING AFTER WATCHING THE FINALE??? Thanks Favreau and Filoni for getting our boy out of there alive and with the kid, and still in need of somewhere safe to hole up for a while and learn more about how normal Mandos live. 
> 
> Also, I named Tristan and then remembered Tristan Wren exists, so hey we have two people with the same name without it being a direct homage. *shrug*
> 
> The names of the different houses aren't GoT references, they're connected to different types of local fox that will be explained eventually since they're connected to the family and their legend. I just found somewhat related names that fit different terrain where they'd find the animals with different colorings. 
> 
> And yeah, Zilla's noticing already that something's wronngggg, lol
> 
> Mando'a:  
> Morutar: welcome  
> vod: brother/pal/companion, /vod'e: brothers/ori'vod: little brother/ner'vod: my brother  
> aor'ad: captain  
> get'shuk: team game  
> Sundari: domed capitol city of Mandalore before its fall  
> jare'la: stupidly oblivious of danger  
> tion'ad's ibic?: who's this?  
> 'ika: diminutive of a name  
> bral: hill fort, high ground, defended position  
> Vhekad: sand  
> Cerar: mountain  
> di'kut: idiot  
> ori'beskaryc: hard case, extremely tough, no-nonsense  
> shebs: backside, ass  
> mircir: cage, capture  
> bal: and  
> tion: what  
> rugam: ball  
> Oya!: literally *Let's hunt!* and also *Stay alive!*, but also *Hoorah!*, *Go you!*, *Cheers!* Always positive and triumphant.


	3. Geroya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes it's basically Capture The Flag, but full-contact with jetpacks and gunnery drones.

As the two groups of Mandalorians in the center of the field charged each other with a shout, he realized, in a moment of sudden clarity, the absurdity of the entire situation. That morning, he'd set out on the final leg of a journey that'd been entirely guided by cryptic directions, and now he was in a field full of more of his people than he'd seen above ground since his own clan had rallied to save him and the child, and more of them in the sun and mountain air and not fighting for their lives than. . . than that terrible night when he'd again lost everything he'd known. He'd set off into the hills looking for somewhere safe to stay as he healed, and now here he was playing rear guard as the two lines fought to get through each other halfway across the field. 

That train of thought was broken off as a broad-shouldered man in sandy gold armor broke through the skirmish in the middle and charged in a wide arc around the back of the field, and he was pulled back into the game.

The rules, Zilla had explained as she walked him across the field, amounted to keeping the enemy players from stealing their flag, a short metal rod with a scrap of orange fabric knotted on one end, from the "fort", marked off by four small floating droids, while their attacking line pushed across to steal the enemy's flag while not getting taken down or, in the case of the airborne fighters, getting shot out of the air before reaching the rear quarter line of the field. Beyond that, it was all ground-based fighting, so, she had said, their friends on jet packs couldn't pick the flags up while in the air and race them back. Anyone who flew past that point, or tried to sneak in through the rear boundaries of the field would be tracked and shot by the flying gunnery drones like the one he'd nearly shot himself.

It had sounded simple, as she'd run through the rules and how all he had to do was keep the other team's fighters from circling around the edge of the field and flanking their fort- he glanced down quickly, checking that the tiny blinking orange marker she'd caught from Galen and clipped to the edge of his vest was still secure and marking him out from the other team's green lights - but now he was facing down the charging fighter who was the size of Paz - _(the size Paz had been_ ) he distantly realized, before he could correct himself that no, the older man was still alive somewhere out there - and suddenly all too aware of his healing ribs. _(Kriff, they were right, I'm still healing and shouldn't be doing anything to set that back if I don't have to.)_ Still, he found himself oddly wanting to be a part of this strange new group, and not disappoint them, like he'd been so long ago when he'd been taken in by his first clan.

Planting himself between the oncoming charge and his new team's fort, he let the man rush at him as though to block the attack and stop his charge. In the background, he could hear other shouts, and the pounding approach of feet accompanied by shouts to "cut him off!" and "I got you, di'kut, you're out!" As the other man braced for the inevitable impact, he instead dropped to brace himself on one arm and tangled his legs with those of his charging opponent, sending the gold-armored shape sprawling. Before the man could rise, he rolled, and, digging his elbow into the man's stomach below his ab plate with a sharp jab, threw his own weight onto him, pinning his arms to the ground. "Gotcha."

Below him, the helmeted head nodded in assent. "That was a good feint, you got me."

Rolling off the defeated player, he offered his hand up, and the other man grabbed his arm in the same grip he'd been greeted with before. "Next time, it won't be so easy." And with his hands on his helmet in surrender, the other man strode off to where his"captured" teammates waited. 

The rest of the game passed in a blur of flashing armor and shouts of victory and defeat. Several other fighters tried to circle the corner of the field, once three at a time and he suddenly found Kit at his elbow to take them down, but it seemed true that the position was tame in comparison to the rest of the playing field. He watched as one of the black and white and grey women soared towards their aerial boundary line as she returned their flag to the fort, only for a grappling line to shoot out of a clump of fighters, dragging her back to the ground. Before she could hit and the flag be stolen back, a streak of red - Tristan this time, if he was reading the details right from so far - leapt onto the shoulders of the fighters and ran lightly across three to their collected cries of annoyance and caught the falling woman out of the air, tossing her to safety where she ran their flag back. Across the field, another shout rang out as a group began running after a fleeing figure, and the blue-and-gold shape of Iris emerged, charging back with the green team's flag. _(Kriff, she's on foot, they'll take her down easy.)_

Another blur of color heading in a separate direction drew his attention to his right, and he realized it was Zilla charging across the no-fly zone to where a teammate stood guard. Over the sounds of the fight, her shout of "covering fire" was barely audible before, her teammate crouching slightly to give her a place on his leg to step when she threw herself into the air at him, and launched her into the air and past the boundary line and up to where she, yet again, caught the floating orb out of the air just before the jets on her back ignited and she spun around, the plasteel ball trying to jerk free of her grip. 

He looked back at the still-approaching knot of fighters both defending and pursuing Iris in time to see Kit bodily tackling a player before they could grab her, and just before Zilla gained control of the drone and opened fire on the opposing team. Iris once more broke free and charged for their base. Before she could reach the line though, another player raced in to block her, and again Tristan appeared from the throng to bodily check the other man. Without stopping, Iris charged at them as her teammate leaned over their opponent, hunching as he pinned the man's arms to his sides. In a fluid motion, the blue and gold figure jumped onto his back, sprung off, tucking into a flip that launched her over their heads, and landed inside their fort to an echoing cheer from the who team. 

_(What the hell was that?!?)_ He'd seen his people fighting as a unit before, but not with the level of cohesion and teamwork these strangers did, as part of a _game._ Still in awe, he allowed himself to be pulled into the celebratory back-slapping and congratulations as he trailed along back to the side of the field where Galen greeted them, joining in with their laughter. Someone asked him a question, and he realized he'd been lost in his own thoughts, overwhelmed by their closeness and the unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome familiarity. Checking on the child then wasn't entirely an excuse, but he could feel himself calming slightly when he knelt down by the floating pod. "What do you think, ad'ika, do you think we could stay here for a while? If anyone comes for us I know we'll definitely have more backup fighting them off, this time." The bright trill that was his only reply didn't sound like a definite "yes" or "no" to him, but something in it sounded positive, so the kid at least liked it there so far. 

Around them, the other armored figures were re-arming themselves with the assorted blasters and rifles they'd left on the sidelines, and he quickly scooped up and refastened his own weapons as he followed the column across the field and onto another narrow trail through the trees on the far end of the field. As the woods closed in over their heads their chatter, distorted through helmet speakers as it was, seemed to echo off the trees and he wondered, yet again, at their fearlessness at walking above ground in such numbers without wariness in their every step. 

"You're just in time, you know." He realized with a start that Zilla had appeared to walk beside him. "Getting here when you did. There's not usually this many of us out here playing, so you really got an exciting introduction to the family." 

"Is-" _(Is this your entire clan? Is it really so peaceful here that so many Mandalorians- younger ones, too - are safe out in the day? "-_ Is this the way to your covert?"

She tilted her head at him curiously, and something about it reminded him of a bird. Not the action itself but something. . .

"Covert? That's one word for it, not sure it fits our _braal,_ though." It was Tristan, who'd suddenly materialised at his other elbow, and he realized the rest of their little group had surrounded him again. 

_(Braal- that's. . . fort?)_ It'd been so long since he'd used the language for more than speaking with his clan, he realized his fumbling translation of it with an odd mixture of surprise and shame. "You- you have a fortification, then?" Was it too much to hope for, that they'd have a fortified settlement? The trees would make landing here impractical, so a fort's walls could at the least keep out ground forces and give the kid some measure of security. Again, he could feel his companions exchanging glances from behind their helmets. 

"Well. . ." this time it was Iris. "A fortification is one way to put it." 

Before he could ask anything else, they once more emerged into the late afternoon sun as the trees ended, and he realized the path was taking them across another meadow to where it disappeared into. . . 

He stared up at the side of the hill, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. It made sense now, that he'd reached the mountainside that had looked odd from the air, but actually seeing it from the ground and making sense of what he was looking at was a different puzzle. "Is- is that a. . .?"

"Is that a Republic command ship partially sunk into the mountainside, you mean? Yes, yes it is. And believe me, that's one hell of a story how it got there." He could hear the smirk in her voice, and also the pride. The massive vessel had been buried, leaving parts of the port side and most of the bow exposed, and he could now see the faint outlines of the gunnery towers among the trees that had grown up around the upper structures. As he stared in awe at the ship - _("braal", hill fort, that's it. It's actually a kriffing hill fort)_ \- the group had crossed most of the meadow to where, he realized, a wide hanger door was open enough to pass through near where the ship ended and hill began. In awe at the marvellous structure, he turned to ask Zilla something, anything about how it came to be, when, up ahead as they passed under the door into the shadows of the ship, the armored men and women began to lift off their helmets as they laughed and shook sweat-flattened hair free. 

He froze. 

_Oya vod! You played well for a di'kut who said he just got blown up by an E-Web a couple weeks ago. You don't need to show off for us, just making it through that is impressive enough alone._ _The way you flinch whenever someone pats your shoulder or pulls you in for a quick victory embrace, though, does not look like it's from any recent injury, though. Are you that scared of us? Don't think I didn't notice you relax just a bit when we said our home was fortified. I know you're used to wandering, but now I'm sure you're not used to having somewhere this secure to bunk down. Don't worry, ner vod, you'll be taken care of in our halls._

_Wait, haven't you ever seen a Mando'ad take her helmet off before?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's taken three entire chapters just to get to the fort, but now all the fun can start! It's a Fun Author Thing realizing all these characters have already told me their histories and family trees, and poor Din still knows nothing about them and is about to be Even More Confused in a minute.  
> (The LARP I do has a fight version of capture the flag that involves hitting each other with foam weapons and a respawn system, but I just tweaked the rules a bit to allow for jetpacks and added a jail system that they can break teammates out of, Mando style)
> 
> Also, at this point all of Zilla's inputs are just increasingly more concerned versions of "Are you ok? Are you sure you ok because I'm gradually more convinced you're not ok."
> 
> Geroya - game, play (lit. nearly-hunt)


	4. Faces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His confusion and dismay at his new companions removal of their helmets growing, they take him through the depth of the fortress-ship to get some answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I missed my usual posting date last week, but now you get two chapters at once! This chapter and the next one were originally one long chapter, but together they were over 5700 words which is slightly longer than the essay portion of my final MA project, so I broke it in two. But things are finally starting to happen!

_(What- what in kriffing hell-_ ) He fought down- panic, he could only dimly think to call it - as the laughing figures around him who, moments ago, he'd begun to think of as new friends, easily removed and tucked helmets under their arms as they headed through the hanger into the depths of the ship. 

"You good, _ner vod?"_ In his shock he'd forgotten about the woman at his side, and flinched back from her light touch on his arm before he could catch himself as he spun to face her. Instead of the deep lacquer-red-and-gold faceplate, he was staring into a pair of wide green eyes in an elegant, angular face staring back at him with what looked like an easy curiosity, through tendrils of auburn hair that had escaped from where she'd twisted it into a coil. She had a dusting of freckles across her nose, a part of his brain dimly realized as he stared in shock, the kind that you'd have to be in the sun to get. 

"You- your helmets, you _are_ Mandalorian warriors right?"

"Well, the _beskar'gam_ is usually a pretty clear giveaway of that, but yeah, same as you." It was Kit, at his other side, and he whipped around to see a young man - younger than him by at least ten years - with the same green eyes and auburn hair cropped short, giving him a confused stare. 

"Hey, we're inside now, _ner vod,_ and wherever you've been before, we're safe in here." Spinning back, he saw Tristan, who'd spoken with an oddly knowing tone as he, too slipped off his helmet to reveal wavy dark golden hair plastered down with sweat and sharp grey eyes that met his own stare with a strange hardness for a man he judged only a few years older than Kit, and who had a wide, boyish face and golden tan that would have been nearly pretty save for its sharp appraisal and grim set. He'd seen that look before, he realized. _(He's different from them),_ the thought hit as something in the man's face beyond the distinctly outer rim features and coloring brought up a vague memory that slid away again as, turning back, he realized the last two members of the squad had caught up and Iris and Galen were tucking their matched helmets under their arms. Matched sets of amber eyes met his, her dark hair pulled back into a short tail, his falling over his forehead with a slight curl. They had the same high, sharp cheekbones and nose, and even in the dim light of the hanger he could see they were a darker tan than he himself would have been, with any solar exposure. They might have been twins, and he guessed they were young, possibly younger than Kai, and despite the wear on their armor and obvious capability they had none of Tristan's wariness. In the confusion, and in wonder, at seeing their faces bared and staring back at him with a range of curiosity and worry, he realized he'd let the silence stretch too long. 

"That's not- you're showing your faces, it's not The Way. How can you call yourselves-?" He trailed off, still looking between the different faces around him. They all stared back at him, and then at each other in confusion. Behind him, a soft burble from the child called for him to turn and hold what had become the only solid point in his world just then, but he was still rooted in place. 

"He's from one of the lost clans, he did say." Zilla finally broke the silence, staring levelly. "And I'd say not too familiar with some of our more. . . peacetime customs."

"You said you're all there is of your house, right? He might not know-" Kit raised one eyebrow at him. 

_(Not know what? What's going on in this ship?)_ He made his shaking hands stay where they were at his sides, not flying to a weapon. 

" _Ba'vodu_ will want to meet him. That's probably the best place to start. . ." trailed off Iris, glancing at her brother. 

"You think he's back yet?" 

"I'll check." Slipping his helmet back on and fixing the seal, Tristan glanced away from them, tilting his head as though speaking to someone. 

_(Helmet comms! They've been on closed comms this whole time)_ Every seemingly silent exchange between them had been on a private comm channel, he realized with a start. The circuitry for his own helmet's comm link had gone unused for so long, he wasn't even sure how well it worked anymore, no matter how good it had been at the time it was installed. He hadn't had many others to talk to over it in years, even in his own clan. 

"Yeah, hes's back." With a flick of the neck seals, he pulled the helmet back off. "'Says to bring our new friend up as soon as convenient." 

"That's _alor_ -speak for 'get your _shebs_ up here on the double'" The taller woman flicked a grin over at him. "Gale, 'Ris, you two get a head start cleaning off, we'll meet you two there once we've gotten everything straightened out with our new friend." With a nod, the two trotted away across the hanger towards the far doors where the last of the line of armored figures had vanished as Zilla started striding across the open space after them, the others joining a step after and he found himself carried along with them while what had just happened sunk in. _(Alor - commander. I remember that now. And - and he's their uncle?_ ) _Alor_ he remembered with a jolt from long-buried memories of duracrete training yards and barracks full of other recruits, all quiet inside their gleaming new buy'ce. "Your - your commander, can _he_ explain why a whole troop of Mandalorians can take their helmets off and still call themselves Mandalorians?" 

The worried looks the remaining three shared made him realize that he'd sounded more hostile than he'd intended. 

"Our _al'verde_ will straighten everything out for you, I'm sure." Tristan had kept his eyes on the far doors as he spoke. 

Ahead of them, Iris and Galen passed through the wide doorway, vanishing down the passageway beyond to the right. In silence, the trio led him and the kid through after them, instead turning left, and striding along the durasteel corridors heading forwards through the ship. They walked in silence, his armored escorts occasionally exchanging glances with each other that meant _something_ , he could tell _(they want to talk, but not in front of me, and they can't without helmet commlinks._ ) Silently, they led him into a lift, and silently they stood around him and the hovering pod as it carried them up through the ship-fortress. Beside him, the kid cooed softly, and he felt all their attention shift to it slightly. _(I could take them all right now. Put them down, grab the kid, and retreat down this kriffing mountain.)_ He wanted to pick the little green bundle up, as much for his own comfort in the shock and confusion of seeing what he'd thought could be a new haven for them suddenly upended and people he'd wanted to be a part of breaking what he'd been taught to be one of the most sacred codes for their people. Instead, he allowed himself to mentally play out escape scenarios; an arm across the woman's neck to pin her to the wall as he took down one man with a kick and the other with his flamethrower, or shoulder check the shorter man - Tristan _(they gave me their names like they trust me)_ he reminded himself - sending him into the corner as he took down the auburn-haired siblings. Zilla and Kit. Just knowing their names was a foreign feeling, and had been since they'd introduced themselves back in the clearing. He ran through a half dozen scenarios for escape plans, but in each one, he still had to get the kid out of a potentially hostile stronghold full of warriors whose training, he he estimated, must have been similar to his own. _(And retreating now would mean not knowing why I'm even here,)_ he realized. Why he'd been sent out here, and just why these people who wore the same armor as himself were so bold in the daylight, no matter how isolated the hillside and world. 

Finally the lift stopped, and his three guides led him and the child out and down another durasteel hallway. Something about this one was different, and he tried to work out what he was seeing without their noticing. In the metal of the bulkheads was the faint, rippling design of an elongated hexagon framing a rectangle. It was one he'd seen many times before. The recognition hit him, the-

"Our iron heart." Zilla must have noticed his interest. "The symbol of our people, through peace and war times." 

That was it. He hadn't seen the design they all wore over their hearts displayed so publicly, since . . . "it- it's like where they trained us, in Sundari. They had that everywhere. . ." he trailed off, realizing what he'd admitted. _(Never talk about the past or tell them who you are or where you're from.)_ But it'd been enough, and they exchanged sharp glances. 

"You were in Sundari?" 

He glanced at the shorter man half a step behind him. "I- I was, before. . . before that night." Another silence. They all knew what night it had been, he realized. _(Were they there? No, too young, even compared to. . . and they wouldn't have been able to get out by themselves, like. . ."_

_"_ Oh yeah," Zilla's interest cracked through her carefully blank expression. "He's gonna wanna hear about this." 

_(He? Their commander?)_ Then it hit him what her - all of their restrained expressions meant. _(They do this, take their helmets off, a lot. They're better at controlling their faces than I am.)_

Before he could continue down that train of thought, they reached a wide doorway, and with a flick of a button from Kit, the doors swished open and he was led inside. As the door slid shut behind them, he realized they were in an office, but it was unlike the few he'd been inside working jobs, and far more - _homey_ was the only way he could think of it - compared to his dim memories of Mandalore. It was spacious, the office of a commander, and the grey-green walls were covered with racks of blasters and vibroblades and elegantly sheathed swords he recognized as _beskads (How do they have so many? I thought they'd all been destroyed in the Purges),_ and an array of polearms. It was homey, by Mandalorian standards, filled with a small fortune in antique but still clearly serviceable firepower, all well cleaned and cared for, and well used. With another shock, he noticed that the heavy desk at the far end of the room was wood, simply yet finely shaped and finished, to match the low cabinets that ringed the room. Beyond the desk, he realized with a start what was displayed almost with honor at the end of the room.

Hung on the wall behind the desk were six white helmets. _(Imps? Why'd you take trophies from Troopers?)_ A moment later, he realized his mistake. The visors were different from the skull-like faces he'd grown up to fear and hate, more T-shaped like his and those of his companions, forking out over the mouth and respirator. _(I- I remember those. Do I remember those?)_ As he thought, his gaze fell to what was beneath the helmets; a string of what he guessed to be several dozen small, glossy, irregular spheres was displayed under a light, and below it in a small transparisteel case that looked about half the size of his helmet were countless more, all the same soft golden yellow. _(Pearls?)_ The silvery plate on the front had an inscription he could just see, but not read at that distance. He was about to take a half-step forward, to try to read what was on the plaque for what could only be a memorial of some kind, when another door in the far right corner slid open, and two more armored men entered. 

Two armored, armed, _older_ men. 

_Ok ner vod, it's time for us all to get some questions answered. You're as restless as a cornered nuna, but just keep calm a while longer and alor will get everything worked out, I'm sure. You're not the first vod I've seen wash up here who'd been knocked about for so long he forgot what the safety of yaim and aliit felt like. You also won't be the first we welcome in while they relearn both._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Stealthily starts dropping hints about characters' family history* There's one nod here, and another coming up in the next chapter. I know this was an odd place to end, but the next part deserved its own chapter. 
> 
> yaim: home  
> aliit: family  
> ba'buir: uncle  
> buy'ce: helmet  
> shebs: backside  
> alor: leader, chief, *officer*, constable, boss  
> alor'ad: commander


	5. Confusion and Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A talk with the strange clan's commander brings as many answers new questions about things he'd never before questioned.  
> Or, "how do I begin to explain to you that you were raised by a death cult"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeyyyy, we're finally getting to a couple of characters I've wanted to bring in for weeks now. I've teased them on the Discord, but here he is, my not!Jack O'Neill and Teal'c from Stargate SG!! Jack is peak Space Dad, and I realized as I was working their dad's character out that he was sounding more and more like Jack, so Jack he became.
> 
> The Resol'nare, or six actions:   
> A Mandalorian must wear armor.  
> A Mandalorian must speak Mando'a.  
> A Mandalorian must defend themself and their family.  
> A Mandalorian must contribute to the overall well-being of the clan.  
> A Mandalorian must raise their children as Mandalorians.  
> A Mandalorian must heed Manda'lor's call and rally to their cause.

_(They're old!)_ His first impression of the two was that of age. Again he corrected himself a heartbeat later; the younger man couldn't have been too much older than himself, but the dark-skinned man's bald head with a deep palm-sized scar across his forehead, and something in his stance gave the impression he was many years older. The other man was older, though, by several decades. His long, lean face giving way to softness around the edges and only traces of dark were peppered through his cropped grey hair, and the sandy browns of his armor scuffed and worn with use showed his age. His eyes, though, were still hard and bright as the man stared him down, taking in, no doubt, his unpainted armor and the kid floating just behind him. It had been so long since he'd seen any of his people outside of his own covert, and none of them had the air of easy authority and command that came from a lifetime as a warrior that these two did, that he'd first guessed them to be far older. _(Were any of my commanders really that old, or was I just so young? Are there any of them still left to get so old? Any *others* out there,)_ he corrected himself, _(they did say they're Mando'ade, still._ )

Instead of sitting behind the desk, the shorter man circled to the front, facing them as he leaned on the edge, his companion taking up position by the corner, arms crossed across scuffed black-and-tan armor, one eyebrow raised in what could have been equally appraisal or curiosity; his expression giving away as much as a helmet faceplate. "So," drawled the man. "You're the wandering merc who stumbled up our mountain just looking for a bed and a hot meal, and who I'm told is a little confused about how we run some things around here? No names, but you're all of clan 'Mudhorn' there is?"

"That's correct sir." Zilla spoke up behind him.

"Sir, I-" he suddenly felt as nervous as he had starting training as a kid under the man's gaze, and he corrected himself, remembering the title his companions had used. " _Al'verde._ If - if it's not too much trouble, the kid and I really could use someplace to stay, and a meal. I have credits, I can pay for both of us. _"_

_"_ Uh-huh. It's just 'commander' here, before we get started. And you three, I thought I taught you better than this."

It took him a moment to realize the man - the commander - was speaking to his three companions, and it hit him with a cold shock that he'd wandered in unchallenged, could have compromised their security as a potential threat. _(Kriff I might have landed them in trouble with their leader_.) He knew how the armorer would have dealt with anyone who endangered their covert needlessly. 

Before he could speak up to defend his new almost-friends, the man continued, "c'mere, I haven't seen you all day. Buckets down, first, ok?"

The last was added as, to his increasing shock and confusion, his three companions dropped their helmets on the cabinets closest to them and rushed to where the older man stood to meet them, reaching to meet each in turn, a hand behind each head as they pressed their foreheads against his for a moment in greeting, some more forcefully than needed. "Ow, watch it my little fox Kit, this isn't Keldabe and we're not wearing buckets right now. Calm down." More calmly, they turned to greet the taller, dark man with a hug instead of the head-butt _(maybe the scar is sensitive?)_ Something in their casual display of affection made his gut twist, and he couldn't tell if it was out of awkwardness seeing them so unguarded, or - or a longing he hadn't felt in so long, to have that for himself, also. Finally, their attention settled back on him, and he could feel the panic and confusion starting up again. 

"Now," the lean man turned his sharp gaze back on him, "normally I have a 'no buckets in the house' policy, but I hear things are run differently where you're from."

The man's casual, almost lazy tone threw him for a moment, before the confusion, now mixed with anger, won out. "Commander, I- How do you call yourselves Mandalorians? To wear our helmets, to not show our faces to another living being, it is our Way, and- and taking it it off means rejecting who we are and what we are, and breaking the code, betraying our clan, it's something that can never be undone. You can never put the helmet back on after that. . ." Even as he trailed off, he could tell he'd said something wrong by the looks the younger trio exchanged, shifting uneasily, and the older man threw an arm over each of the redheads' shoulders, his companion reaching out to grip Tristan's arm gently. 

"Ok, son, it sounds like you might be just a little confused about some of 'our' culture. When was the last time you took that thing off, anyway?" 

"Last night," he answered without thinking, adding, "but no living being has seen me without it since I was a child and took the oath and was given my helmet." Mentioning the droid's rescue and the loophole the machine had found seemed pointless. 

"How old are you, anyway?"

_(Old enough,_ ) he wanted to bristle. How old _was_ he now, anyway? "I- I've been a warrior in my clan for many years, now."

"I mean, do you remember the Clone Wars?" 

"A Separatist battle droid killed my parents when I was a child, and I was taken in by the Mandalorians who found me after that." 

Again, the exchange of glances and raised eyebrows. 

"Ok kid." Leaning sideways and half-shoving Kit over, the older man looked around him to where the tiny green child sat watching them. "Kids, then. He yours?"

"Yes." It was pointless to argue by then. "He's mine until I can find others of his species."

"Then ok kids, you'd better take a seat, it's story time. And that means you three also." 

It was then he noticed several wooden benches along the back of the room, and Kit had bounded across to drag one up behind him before he could take a step towards them, and with a short thanks, he settled himself and let the hovering pod drift up beside him. Instead of joining him on benches, Kit and Tristan hopped up to sit on the cabinets, Zilla perching on the opposite corner of the desk. The older man shook his head in a way that said this was nothing new, sliding up to sit on the edge of the desk himself, long legs still grazing the floor. Behind them, the quietly imposing warrior pulled the chair from behind the desk around to his side before seating himself. 

"First of all, you're _Mando'ade,_ so someone should have already told you you're welcome to more than just a bunk and breakfast here. This is our _yaim,_ our home, and I don't know about your people, but it's not our 'way' to kick a _vod_ out or leave him feeling unwelcome, got that?"

"Got it, sir. And thank you."

"And second, cut it with the 'sir' and 'commander' stuff, when we're at home you call me Jai. Jai Saltheel, House Teslaggan, same as these three _verd'ike_."

"And I am Mu'rai, but you _can_ call me 'sir,'" rumbled the other man, his raise eyebrow never moving a hair's breadth. 

"He doesn't talk much," Jai continued, "but he's one of the commanders here also. Now, I asked if you remember the Clone Wars. How much did you see, outside of that battle?"

"He said he'd been in Sundari, 'bu," Zilla jumped in. 

_('bu', that's- it's short for-)_ he fumbled for the translation. She'd just said something important, if he could just remember-

" _Bic ni skana'din,_ son just how old _are_ you? That was a hell of a place to be, and you don't sound _that_ old, plus that shiny new armor makes you look even younger no matter how old you are."

"I said I was a warrior-"

"but how _old?"_

_"_ I- I was maybe thirteen, fourteen by then. They trained us well in the fighting corps." He could hear the defensive edge in his own voice, and the others again exchanged looks, this time the worry was less guarded, and mixed with alarm from the younger trio. Across from him, Jai scrubbed one hand down his face. 

"The fighting corps, kriff, kid."

"I had heard of such things," Mu'rai growled, "how in the last days of the war, those leading Mandalore conscripted every half-trained child and war orphan they could grab to hammer into an army as soon as they reached the age of adulthood. I did not want to believe the rumors were true, and I had not until now met anyone who was a part of what was done."

_(Probably because they were all gunned down by the Imps,)_ he wanted to say. _(Those of us who made it out aren't about to talk about it, either.)_ Instead, it was said for him. 

"From what I heard, I doubt there were many 'recruits' from the corps who got out. The 'night of a thousand tears', right?" Kit turned to him, as though for confirmation. "That's what they- it's called?" _(He wasn't there, too young for sure, all three of them are. The other two weren't there, either. Why? How'd you survive the war?)_

"It- that's right. Not many of us did. They- they sent a few of us away, so we'd survive, right before. . ." Before it'd all ended. 

Again, there was silence. "Feck." This time it was Zilla who broke it. "And you were all, what, a bunch of thirteen-year-olds? No one went with you?" 

"No-yes-I mean, we had one older warrior who came with us, to make sure- but we lost him and had to survive on what they taught us. We did all right for ourselves for a while, and then. . ." 

"The Empire's purges? Yeah, kid, we know. even some of my kids barely got away from them in time." As he spoke, all three younger fighters looked away to fidget with their armor or gear, and he realized they'd all been there for _that. "_ But," the older man continued,"none of that explains the-" he tapped his own head. "You know. You're not the first war orphan adopted by Mandos, but I've gotta say you're the first I've met who thought the first part of the _Resol'nare_ meant keeping the bucket on _all_ the time. No one's done that in centuries, except. . ." He and Mu'rai exchanged looks. "No, you don't think-" 

"Jai, they're the only ones who would even think of doing that to children." 

"You're right, but still. . . Hey, these Mandalorians you said rescued and trained you, you wouldn't happen to know what clan they were from?" 

Clan? He couldn't even remember if they'd ever used names, no one had after his own had been recorded. "They- they never said, but the sigil on their armor, they said it was a shriek-hawk." He couldn't tell if it'd been the right or wrong thing to say, by the way both men shifted uncomfortably. 

Jai reached across the desk behind himself, scooping up a small holo-projector and tapping something on a panel on his gauntlet. A moment later, the familiar pronged shape lit up above the projector. "This what they had?"

"That- that's it. Why-"

"It means that, unless you were scooped up by a _very_ strange branch of House Vizsla, you were recruited by a group called the Death Watch. 

Again, there was silence for a moment. "They're-" _(Vizsla- Paz? And no, they saved me, trained me, they're not-)_

"They're a death cult. Or close to it. Hate to break it to you this way, but those nice Mandalorians who recruited and trained you were the part of an extremist splinter group who'd come into power near the end of the wars who'd recruit anyone they could get from anywhere in the galaxy, and train them to be loyal only to _them,_ sound about right?"

"I. . .yes," was all he could choke out. _(No no no no no)_

"The Death Watch, in its most recent, extreme form, wanted Mandalore to return to its ancient, warlike roots, and that meant enforcing uniformity and anonymity. I have always heard that said to mean unity of purpose and anonymity for their mission, but not in raising their recruits to never show their faces at all." The larger man mused. "And certainly not convincing them they would be _dar'manda_ if they removed their helmets." 

_(Dar'manda?)_ "Dar. . .?"

" _Dar'manda,_ no longer a Mandalorian. It strips you of your heritage, of our souls. Hell, how do you not know _that_ much?

"I. . . we were taught just enough of our language to. . . for orders and. . ." He wanted to retreat. To stand and run from them and their gentle destruction of his world and everything he'd believed. From the shame that he'd thought he could ever belong here. That he'd believed what they'd taught him and his fellow recruits. His hands had gone numb gripping the edge of the bench underneath him, and he forced them to relax, resting instead on his knees. 

"They taught you enough to satisfy the _Resol'nare,_ the six tenets you have to follow in order to be a Mandalorian and, some believe, have a soul. Centuries ago clans would force _areuetiise_ to swear it, but no one does that anymore. Or did. You do know that much, right?"

"I. . . it's been. . . a while since I heard it," he made himself lie. There'd never been six tenets, only the creed, The Way, that they'd all been taught and sworn on when their names were recorded. 

"Kids, wanna remind our new friend here who we _really_ are?" 

Beside him, Zilla rolled her eyes, but began anyway in a sing-song voice: " _Ba'jur bal beskar'gam, Ara'nov, aliit,_ "

_"Mando'a bal Mand'alor - An vencuyan mhi,"_ finished Tristan, to his right. 

"Education and armor, self-defense, our tribe, our language and our leader -all help us survive." Kit translated, atop the cabinet to his left. 

"We wear armor, speak the language of our people, defend ourselves and our family, contribute to the clan, raise our children as Mandalorians, and support our Manda'lor when they call for us to fight," finished Mu'rai, to the side.

"I'm sorry you weren't found and adopted by an actual Mandalorian family, son, but what they taught you isn't who we are-"

"No!" It slipped out, cutting off the words that were tearing down the last of his beliefs. _(No, how could everything I was taught by those who saved me be wrong?) "_ That's- that can't be right. They- they rescued me and trained me in the ways of Mandalorian warriors." The words felt even more hollow now, but they were all he had left. 

"Did they adopt you or not?" This time it was Tristan, and he distantly noticed the strange hardness was back in his eyes. " _That's_ Mandalorian custom when they find orphans. Family and tribe are everything to us, even if that means building them for ourselves with people don't have either. That's what you've done with your kid, right?" 

"I. . . yes, but. . ." It _was_ what he'd done, without realizing it. _(The foundlings are our future. That's what they told us, but to be more than a foundling? We were always more of a fighting unit, but could we have ever been both?)_

_"_ Now, no one's expecting you to just pull your bucket off just yet, son, but this place is our home, and it's safe in here. Remember how I asked if you remembered the Clone Wars?"

"Yes, I-"

"Did you ever meet any of the clone troopers?"

"I- I heard of them, can't remember if I met any."

"If you had, you'd remember it, believe me. Now, have you ever heard of a man named Jango Fett?

"I-" the name "Fett" was familiar from life in the Guild of course, but the first name stirred up other memories of conversations overheard as a young recruit in a long-lost city. "I might have, back on Sundari."

"Well, Jango Fett was a Mandalorian, no matter what folks say now. The Death Watch pulled strings and had him declared _dar'manda_ to discredit him and the group he fought with, but that's ancient history now. Point is, he was the one whose genetic template was used to create the clone army. Millions of men in a slave army, all wearing the face of one of our greatest fighters of his generation."

"These men were also brave warriors, but because they were cloned for and purchased by the Republic, they were seen as expendable units, bred to die for the republic." The stoic man's voice carried a hit of something dangerous and furious. 

"They were our kin, our cousins, our people. Mandalorians in all but name from Jango's blood and the training he and the other Mandalorian sergeants gave them, but they were denied names and identities outside of the army. Just a sea of identical helmets and serial numbers assigned to them like droids. They were robbed of who they were meant to be, conditioned since childhood to be blindly loyal to a government that didn't give a _kriff_ if they lived or died just as long as they could fight. I saw them, I fought with them. Each one was as individual and unique as you and me under there."

He thought he started to see where Jai was going with this.

"After the war, I swore, we all swore, that'd never happen to our own kids. We'd raise them as warriors, but never as weapons without names or faces. Our code, our way of life is to make us strong, make strong warriors, but not hurt our kids by shutting them away in their armor like a prison. It makes us a people, no matter the bloodline or distance. Individuals, Mando'ade, not machines. We've fought damn hard to make sure there'd be somewhere safe for them, and family to raise and train them, and," one corner of his mouth turning up in an easy smile, he glanced at the younger fighters seated around the room, "I think we've done a fairly good job." 

With a short laugh, Zilla reached over to lightly cuff his already-battered pauldron. 

_("bu"- buir. Father. They're *his* kids,)_ he realized with a start. It all seemed obvious now, their greeting, their easiness and irreverence towards his furniture. It had been so. . . foreign, he'd mistaken it for more of their strangeness. They were all staring at him again, and it hit him he'd voiced the revelation aloud. 

"Yeah, these three are mine, got a few others we picked up along the way and I'd absolutely kill for any of them, but everyone who saw that shitshow and made it out thinks of all our kids as theirs." He grinned around at the trio. "Again, you don't have to take the helmet off just yet, only. . ." the older man ducked his head for a moment in though, then looked back up at him, his eyes suddenly gentle. "Stay with us for a few days, take some time to heal up from whatever cracked enough ribs that I can see you favoring your side from here. If you don't believe me about how differently we run things here, what thinking of your _vode_ as a family, as much as your squad, can look like, it'll give you some time to get to see what that looks like, beyond a bunch of kids trying to wrestle each other for a couple of flags in a field."

It was, he realized with a start, exactly a bunch of kids wrestling each other in a field that had made him want to belong here to begin with. "I- Thank you. We, the kid and I, don't really anywhere else to go right now." 

Something in the older man's smile said he knew all too well what that was like. Levering himself off the desk, he signalled their meeting wrapping up. Around him, the younger trio were sliding off the desk and cabinetry, and the larger fighter joining them. Quickly, he forced himself to follow, legs shaking as he stood, to his surprise. 

"Where'd you land, down in the town?"

"Land? Oh, yes. At the port there."

"Well, if you decide to stay longer than a day or two, we can have you bring your ship up here to one of our hangers. We've got space, right?"

"We can fit him in somewhere," Tristan agreed. 

"All right, now, can we at least get your name, friend?" Jai offered his hand, clasping his arm in the same hand-to-elbow grip that the others had greeted him with before. 

_(Your identity must remain a secret,)_ the thought came in another's voice. _(No, you can tell them. Prove you're a person and not a machine.) ""_ It's Din. Din Djarin." He'd said it. 

"Well, Din Djarin of clan Mudhorn, welcome to our home and stronghold." As he spoke, Jai had released his arm, allowing the other commander space to step in and greet him in the same fashion. "I don't know where you've been before, but a whole lot of us have spent years working our _shebs_ off to be sure this little patch of space was safe for us, so until you see someone else racing for their bucket and blaster, you're safe here. Now go," he gestured back towards the door they'd entered through. "Get lost. Go get cleaned up, or whatever. I'll see you for the _ori'skraan_ tonight." And with a farewell squeeze of Zilla's shoulder around the pauldron, he turned and strode out, Mu'rai following after a nod of farewell. Around him, the trio had scooped up their helmets and were busily leading him back out into the hallway. 

"So, Din, is it? Wait until you see the rest of this place, Din, we've done incredible stuff to this old boat." Kit was back at his shoulder as he checked again that the kid was safely floating after him. 

"We have other forts, but this's the best of them," came Tristan's voice, again from half a step behind him.

Something the old commander had said came back to him. "What- what he said would be tonight, 'ori'. . .?"

At his other elbow, Zilla grinned up at him."'Ori'skrann?' It means feast!" 

As they escorted him back down the long metal hallway, a distant memory of a holovid from his childhood floated to the surface, and he suddenly realized why the white helmets behind the desk had seemed familiar: those had been six clone helmets, all with faint traces of chipped paint on their scuffed surfaces. 

_The Death Watch, kriff them. I’ve heard about them and what they did near the end of the war, we all have. And you went through that as barely more than a kid? Oh vod’ika, I’m so, so sorry. We’ve all had our share of hardships in the field, it’s part of being warriors and Mando’ade, but the pain they gave you was the most harsh, survivalist version of our code, not who we really are. You don’t have to hide behind that wall of armor anymore; you’ve found a home here, if you want it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is! I don't have a full timeline for the events mentioned in the show and how they line up with Clone Wars and Rebels (I'm only on s4 of Clone Wars, since I never watched it when it first aired, so a lot of the later stuff is from various wikis). The bits of the Death Watch Manifesto I've read line up with what Din said about how he was raised and trained, if the jai'galaar sigil on the Mandos who rescued him wasn't enough evidence. 
> 
> The way the covert operated confused me, since they seemed to be following ancient Mando customs with little knowledge of fairly recent events (the fall of the Jedi order was barely thirty years ago by the time of the show. It's like forgetting a powerful orgainization that was wiped out in the early 90's for us), but then the post at https://lurkingcrow.tumblr.com/post/190037793109/a-theory-on-the-mandalorian pointed out just how young all the members of the Covert are, and that they'd have been kids around the end of the Clone Wars when the Siege of Mandalore was broken and the Empire took control. So, with a couple of older trainees and maybe a training sergeant, all the grown fighters we see were the kids just past the age of adulthood who made it out and went into hiding to escape the Empire.  
> The Purges I'm putting 10-11 years ago, after the uprising led by Bo-Katan Kryze in SW Rebels, since we don't have a definitive date for them or when the uprising ended, but somehow between then and now Mandalorians went from legendary warriors with their own homeworlds despite Imperial occupation to nearly extinct and the last remains in hiding, with the Darksaber in Imperial hands. I don't know how the Covert's lifestyle was before the Purges, but they sound like a bunch of kids still reciting the simplified regs and final orders they were given to survive, taking in foundlings instead of adopting kids into a family, and living underground on the run. My babies. 
> 
> But now Din's found Ultimate Space Dad and Dad #2, and all their kids to show him different Mando traditions. Yeah, not!Sam Carter is gonna show up, since she's been busy on her own missions, and not!Daniel Jackson is off being an ex-Jedi somewhere who might show up eventually. 
> 
> I've dropped in more hints about this giant, sprawling family's history and connections, if you can see them. And everything's gonna be explained in time, I promise. 
> 
> Bic ni skana'din:expression of being angry, repelled or "That really ticks me off." From the words for give and a hated thing, much like "it gives me the scunners."  
> mirshmure'cya: Keldabe kiss - slang for headbutt (lit. brain-kiss)  
> ori'skraan: 1. a delicacy, a real treat in terms of food; 2 a blow-out meal, a feast (slang), *big eats*


	6. Secure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Su'cuy! I'm still here and so is this fic! 
> 
> After the revelations about Mando culture and recent historical events, Din gets shown a little more of the fort and meets a few members of the family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know it's been a good few months since I updated, but this chapter kept fighting me after the tension of the last couple chapters and I'm still not entirely happy with it, but it gets people through this section to where they have to be *shrugs*. Part of it was the tension, part was a job hunt that was already frustrating when my whole industry shut down because of the quarantine, and I've also been sewing more and starting on my own Mando kit this spring. 
> 
> Anyway, I know where this is all going and really want to get this done so y'all can meet all the characters who keep popping up as I try to plot this thing out.

They were nearly back to the lifts, his companions chattering around him, when he realized he hadn't heard a thing they'd said. _(A death cult? Did they really raise me to just be their cannon fodder, some kid they scooped up to fill out their ranks? They fought off the droids- they saved me. No, it couldn't have all been a lie, could it? Couldn't it? I - there had to have been more of Mandalore outside of what they showed us, yeah, but there was a war on and we were fighting to keep out the . . . the droids? But it was the Empire that tried to destroy us. What the kriff happened?)_ A small trill interrupted his thoughts, and, for a moment, he thought he felt a slight tugging on his cape like the child was using his powers to get his attention. Turning, he finally scooped the tiny green kid up, stroking the long ears gently to calm it as much as himself. A few paces ahead, his three companions had stopped and turned to watch. Tristan took a step back, meeting them as he caught up with the group, again reaching out to stroke the kid's head. 

"Hey, _ner vod_ , did you hear a thing we were saying? Zil was asking about how old your kidlet is, and if he'd like to go meet some of the other younger kids from the different clans who're here now."

"I - thank you, but it's not safe for him to be too far from where I can protect him. There are people out there who want him-" _(want him alive or dead) -_ "want him, no matter what they have to do."

"Hey, I get that," Zilla jumped in, "but like Jai'buir said, it's safe here. You'll see, then you can decide."

"It's not just that, though, is it?" Tristan was still staring at the kid, the odd sharp, knowing look back in his eyes. Dropping his hand, he looked up, grinning sharply. "Believe me, I know about forgetting what safety feels like, many of our number are the same, and after what you told us back there I can't say I blame you. But there's something else, isn't there?"

"Guys, whatever other deep, dark secrets our new friend has or is running from, can we talk about them and walk at once? We've still got to catch up with everyone getting ready for the feast tonight."

Falling into step with Tristan, and Zilla following their brother a step ahead, they continued down the passage. 

_(Tell them, tell them something now so they'll be warned in case anyone shows up looking for us.)"_ I- I should tell you, the kid and I, we're being hunted by some ex-Imperials who'll do anything to get their hands on him. They can track his chain code, so it's probably not safe for us to stay in one place for long, in case they come asking around for him."

In front of them, the redheaded woman gave a sharp bark of a laugh, and Kit grinned over his shoulder at them. "I say let 'em come. We've all got a few scrapes in our paint from the Imps, and most of us have been training for years to defend this place."

Tristan was also smiling grimly, and together they looked like a trio of dangerous, sharp-toothed wild things. "I know a good few _vod'e_ would welcome a rematch against the Troopers, should they show up on our doorstep."

"And your kid will be safe, Din Djarin," Zilla glanced back, "we've got plenty of surprises built into this place, in case we get any unwanted visitors."

They'd reached the lifts, and the trio led him inside with his squirming cargo. 

"Speaking of," added Kit as he looked between his siblings,"you two think we have time to take him on the scenic route down? We are going to the secure deck, right?"

"I think we have the time, yeah." Zilla arched an eyebrow back, smacking a button as the door shut. "He's gonna like this." 

"Just wait, our family's been working on this place for ages now." 

"And I did say it was the best of all our forts."

"Just how many do you have?" He had to break up their chatter. _(Secure deck? Just where are they taking me now? And the kid's gotta be getting tired by now.) "_ And what's this 'secure deck'?"

"We've got a few more bases around Tesaro three, but one and two have our other two main strongholds, plus their own outlying bases," Tristan replied, leaning against one wall. "The twins, Iris and Galen, they're from the fort on Tes two where their ma, our ba'buir, Auntie Raya is in command with Uncle Beviin."

Slinging an arm over his brother's shoulders, Kit slouched down the wall beside him. "She doesn't leave Two much, but Gale and 'Ris trained here, and we all spent some time learning to fight and track around the hills and rocks there. And ba'vodu Kebiin is nominally in charge of Three, but he's off on a mission with our Ma, Sa'buir, and Auntie Jana, so one of his boys is running the fort now. You'll probably meet him, or one of his brothers later." 

"About later," Zilla interrupted, "to answer your other question, and what I was saying before when you were still light-years away after Jai'buir's little speech, our feast tonight's the Warrior's Feast, the first night in the yearly Gathering, when most of our clans come back here for a whole purple month-"

"That's about ten nights, by the orbit of our purple moon," added Tristan. 

"-And the night when everyone of fighting age, those who've arrived this year, have a feast together. It's our time to see family and put away the blasters for a night. Metaphorically, I mean."

"All the kids still in training get their own meal where they can be as wild as Strill pups, in the side hall." The lift stopped, and Tristan led the way out. "But all the kids too young to train who've come with their families stay with a few of the parents who've decided to stay with them, and a handful of old _Mando'ade_ who don't like the noise of a full dining hall of armored warriors." 

As they walked down another hallway, this one warmly lit, leading towards a large blast door at one end, Zilla reached out to drop one hand on his pauldron. He silently cursed himself at his unease at their casual familiarity when he flinched slightly under her hand. "How many warriors are there? Is it enough if something happens-"

"Nothing's gonna happen," she cut him off. "I was gonna say I hoped you'd join us for the feast tonight, and it's a chance for your kid to get to meet other Mandalorian kids, since he's yours now. I know, you're still getting to know us." She must have somehow read what he'd been about to say. 

"I- I should stay with the kid, and if you have somewhere I can. . . " he gestured at his helmet with his free hand, "I would be grateful for a meal."

"You really don't even take it off to break bread with you, what'd you call them?

"Covert, right?" Tristan jumped in. 

"Yes, we- we would take turns to eat in private, while the rest of us were on watch." 

" _Osik,_ no, you're eating with us tonight. We're all family here and you're not gonna be stuck in a room by yourself on the night of the warrior's feast. Zilla will think of something, right, Zil?"

" _Shev'la,_ fox Kit, I'm still working on it, ok?" She grinned at her brother. "But he's right, I'll think of some way you can join us, just give me a little more time, ok?"

"I- ok" _(I- they might just think of some crazy plan to make this work. I would have been content with a plate and a corner to myself, but if these three want me at their family's feast. . .")_ It was almost too much to imagine, that they'd want to welcome a complete stranger, Mando or not, into what sounded like an important night for them. Just another surprise in an in a day full of them, that he'd be welcome in their home when he wasn't there on a job, or as a paying customer.

"I- are you sure you want me there? After- after what you know about me, and who- who raised me? I'm not like you, I shouldn't-"

"Hey," Tristan slung an arm across his shoulders on the other side, and he tensed up under the touch again. "We all come from somewhere, ok, _ner vod_ ? And you wear beskar, same as us, so you're welcome here just like Jai _'_ buir said."

That casual familiarity, again. They were so easy with him, and with each other, he realized. No one in his clan was that casually close to anyone else, outside of sparring and the occasional fumble in a dark corner, but even then it was about fulfilling a physical need over any real camaraderie. 

"Anyway, just let Zilla find you a way to eat with us, there's a reason she's our Sarge." The shorter man straightened up, reclaiming his arm, and there was a strange pang at its loss. A scoff made him look across to the woman on his other side, where she was again grinning wolfishly at her brother. Ahead of them, Kit was slowly shaking his head. 

"C'mon guys, not this again."

"Oh yes. I thought I was the head of our squad because I kicked your _shebs_ that day."

"Hey, you only beat me because you had that extra training, and I wasn’t using my knives that day."

"No, no I'd still have won, even if it came down to knives. I don't love 'em like you do, Tris, but we both know I still could've beaten you. . ." she trailed off, suddenly serious. "Anyway, knife fighting or not, the trio's extra training didn't really count for much, since we were all still kids then, remember?"

"Who're the trio? Have I met them yet?"

"They're our three older brothers our folks brought home during the wars, before I was born,” Kit added over his shoulder. "You might have met one earlier, I think, but we'll make full introductions during dinner."

 _(Their foundlings?)_ Then he corrected himself, _(no, they said they're adopted as family, here.)_ Suddenly he wanted to meet these adopted brothers who'd been brought in because of the war. He resisted asking if they'd been sponsored, if they'd truly been that prosperous during the war to bring in three new future warriors at once. 

Ahead of them, the blast doors slid open with a hiss as they approached. If they made a corresponding noise closing behind them, he didn't notice, too shocked at the space his companions had led him into.

In yet another moment in a long day of surprises, he was grateful for the shelter of his helmet. They had led him into a cave, carved into the side of the mountain by the looks of the walls, with light streaming down through long, narrow tunnels through the stone that rippled with the sign of force field in the late afternoon sun. 

Kit strode away, turning to face them with his arms spread and bucket dangling from one hand."See? Scenic!" 

They must have re-fitted the doors into the hull of the ship, he realized, staring around the cave. The trio led him along the exposed hull of the ship, the ground giving softly under his boots and he looked down to see a thick lichen that stretched across the floor of the cave. Even with the privacy of the bucket, his surprise must have shown because Zilla let out a short bark of laughter, and he heard Tristan snicker from his other side.

"Impressive, isn't it? The cave was a natural pocket in the stone when our family found this place, and we've just made some . . . upgrades since then" The pride in her voice was justified, he was beginning to realize. "It was supposed to be for storage or extra vehicle space, but somewhere this secure, buried in the mountain so far and with the rest of the ship in the way, has many uses for us."

As they rounded a boulder set by the ship's hull and descended a shallow slope, the sounds of laughter echoed up to meet them. Children's laughter, he realized a moment later as they cleared the corner and he realized they were leading him into the open doors of a small hanger. A small hanger full of kids, two of which ran out past them, laughing. There had to be several dozen, from what had to be close to old enough to start training down to toddlers in the arms of a handful of adults and nanny droids. As the trio called greetings to the other armored figures - all unhelmeted, he tried to ignore the twinge of memory the droids recalled. Instead, he noted the row of brightly painted helmets on a shelf by the far blast door. "These- these kids, they're-"

"Everyone too young to train, but old enough to be left here for the evening," Kit added, over his shoulder.

"No _adike_ tonight, apart from your little one by the looks of him. _Su'cuy,_ you crazy kids." The older man with grey and white armor that matched his grizzled hair had ducked out of a side door, and he spun to meet laughing golden-brown eyes that reminded him of the twins'. _(Another relative?)_

"Uncle! So they've got you on babysitting duty tonight?" Kit draped one arm over the man's shoulders, and his other two companions in turn exchanged the same forehead-touch he'd seen earlier in greeting their father. 

"Din, this is Uncle E'tad, who fought with our folks during the wars," Zilla grinned back at him. "Ba, this is Din Djarin, a new guest for the feast this year that the stars brought to us." 

"You're one of the warriors they said was watching the children tonight?" _('E'tad' that means. . . I know what that means, right?)_

"That's right, I've had enough time fighting, myself, and someone's gotta make sure the next generation of Mando'ade are safe tonight."

"We're trying to talk Din into joining us for the feast tonight, but he's one of our wandering _vode_ , and doesn't easily trust his kid out of his sight," Tristan chimed in. 

He took in the older man's worn armor and the few scars marking his broad face _(definitely related to the twins with that resemblance)._ E'tad carried himself with the same certainty that the other two older warriors had possessed, but even with his age, which he placed somewhere in the vague space of middle age; older than himself but younger than the other two older warriors, he seemed both younger and immensely older than his age suggested. 

"We've- we've come a long way, and there are people hunting the kid here," he indicated the tiny bundle in his arms. "It's not safe for him to be alone, until I can find the rest of his species."

Leaning down, the older man examined the child. "Huh, from what I remember, that might be harder than expected. He looks like someone I heard of back during the wars. Never served under or met him, but from the holos, I think they might be the same species."

 _(There's another one of his kind they know about?_ ) So there was hope he could find the kid's people, after all. "Another one? Do you know where-"

"No, after they- after the war no one knows what happened to him, or if he even survived the- how do you not know about this?"

"Wandering _vod,_ uncle, remember? Buir already knows his story so talk to him, but our new friend's a little. . . behind, on some of our history so he's getting a full _din'kartay_ tomorrow once Sa'bu gets here," Zilla cut a smile across at him, "but his people went into hiding right after the Siege, and like us, he never saw much fighting outside that before. . . well, before." 

"Hrm, so he doesn't remember the _Jetiise_ or the rest, then?" Stroking his chin, E'tad stared down in thought at the kid. "Well _vod,_ your kid will be as safe here as he'll be anywhere tonight. We've got a couple other fighters in the back there," he jerked one thumb over his shoulder towards a side door where the distant sounds of children's laughter blended with the deeper rumble of older voices, "and you three, is Daryc coming this year?"

Tristan lightly stroked one of the long green ears. "If his people think it's safe to travel, but I'll comm him that we have a situation for him to consult on."

 _(A situation? If-) "_ If you know someone who might-"

" _Ner vod_ , I'm just an old soldier and this is something for the commander to work out with you, but if the kid is who I- how old is he, anyway?" The man squinted at him, questioningly. "There were rumors how old the general was, but he was. . . well, we weren't really in a place to ask questions, if you get my drift." 

He didn't really, but there were too many other questions he had for the man. "I was told he was fifty years old, so his species must age differently from most humanoids." The three young fighters looked down at the child with varying levels of astonishment, but E'tad only nodded.

"Yeah that sounds about right. Ad'ika, do that and comm Daryc, and you three Strill pups ask your ma when she gets in if she can contact Vesh to get what she knows about. . . about him. The _Jetiise_ were always a mysterious bunch, and what little we grunts knew about them, and what was out there in the galaxy, was pretty well wiped out by the time the Imps were done.``

 _(The Empire? Did they know about the sorcerers and the child's people?)_ The more he learned, the more he was realizing had been erased and hidden by the powers that had destroyed his people. 

"We'll ask her, Uncle E.," Kit jumped in. "C'mon, we'll have to hurry to wash up before the feast. What'dya think? Safe enough for your kid?"

He looked around at the open space and the groups of children playing. A trio of older kids had wandered over as they'd talked, and he realized one was wearing a miniature cuirass like those his companions had, mounted to a slightly-too-large vest, and another, a girl with the same golden-brown eyes as the twins and E'tad, but lighter reddish-brown hair, had a small, scuffed helmet under one skinny arm. 

"You armor the children?" _(Then why was Jai angry about-)_

 _"_ It's just dress-up, _di'kut_ , "Zilla laughed brightly. "Smaller versions of our _beskar'gam,_ for sure, but also lighter and as much for them to play at being warriors like their family as it is for them to practice working with the plates."

Another little girl ran up to them, white-blonde hair flying as she held up the vivid orange gauntlet on her wrist. "Look, Torr built me a new grappling hook!" 

Tristan crouched down to inspect it. "Well, it looks very solid, but don't go trying to do anything too daring just yet, Cir'ika."

"But Tor told me about-"

"He was grappling down the side of the fort when he was your age, I know, but your cousin didn't have your mother out there about to rip off the _shebs_ of anyone who lets you try that before you're old enough to start training."

"Hey, I'm almost-"

"I know, but you three still have to wait another few months" That was Kit, staring down at the three girls with his arms crossed. "Here, you think you can keep an eye on a new friend for the evening?" 

At the taller man's nod, he knelt down to the excited squeals of the three little girls, the third taking off her scuffed purple helmet to show short dark hair and vivid green eyes. "You three are gonna be careful with him, right?"

As they nodded excitedly, he let them scoop up the child, forcing himself not to snatch the tiny form back. These were Mandalorian children, guarded by other adults of their people; he'd be as safe here as he could be anywhere. 

"Cin, Geni, and Burun will make sure your kid is safe tonight." He straightened to see E'tad's grin. "They're little kids still, but they're tough. Still, they've got plenty of time to grow up." There was an odd sadness in the man's words at the end, and he briefly wondered what the older fighter meant, then decided he must mean that these children were growing up without the wars that had chased their parents. That must be it. 

Quickly, he shut the connection to the cradle from his gauntlet, and told the little girls to be careful with the child as they ran back to their play. With a final farewell, his three companions tugged him away from the retreating children and out of the hanger and through the corridors outside, into another lift. The trio all slouched against the walls as the door slid shut and he could feel them descending once more. 

"Hey," Zilla glanced up at him. "Your kid's gonna be fine, ok?"

"And now you get to wash up and dine with us tonight." With a click of Tristan's glove hitting the door control, the lift stopped, and Kit led them out and to wherever his guided had decided to take him next. 

"Tonight, _ner vod,_ you get to see what it really looks like to be a Mandalorian warrior when we're not on the battlefield." 

He hoped so, that he could at last see what was even more precious to these people than this hidden fortress, than the safety and confidence they had for their warriors to spend time above ground on games, and their youngest children were protected and free to play deep underground. To see what he'd missed, raised to training yards and war and hiding in sewers. To see what it looked like for their people to be a family. Then it clicked, what he'd been trying to remember, _(solus, t'ad, ehn, cuir, rayshe'a, resol, e'tad. One through seven. Resol like resol'nare, but why was that man named 'seven'?)_

  
  


_Hey ner vod, your kid is gonna be safe here tonight. If anyone can figure out who and what he is, Sa'buir or the others can. I might have to talk to Tor about giving our ad'ike tiny tools like that since not everyone is going to be as ready to fight as he and the other two were, but on the other hand they're gonna learn to use them someday. . . Anyway, now it's time for a hot bath and dressing up for the feast tonight!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, we have someone who at least vaguely knew about Master Yoda! I figure that, with millions of troops, not everyone would have worked close enough to know much about him or the Jedi, and yeah E'tad is the first clone we've met! I started out with only having a few of them around the fort, but, uh, now there are somewhat more than that who ended up with these Mandos after the war, and we'll met a bunch of them as this goes!  
> Daryc is my Daniel Jackson character, who's going by a Mando'a name while in hiding, and Vesh is Velan Laz, my other Jedi who's for another thing I'm planning out and who worked with Jai and Sajan and co. during the war. She might show up here also, eventually.  
> ba'vodu - aunt/uncle  
> shev'la - silent  
> strill - a traditional six-legged Mandalorian hunting animal  
> Jetiise - the Jedi order/the Republic  
> din'kartay - sitrep, sharing of information or planning  
> Daryc - the color brown  
> 1 – solus  
> 2 – t’ad  
> 3 – ehn  
> 4 – cuir  
> 5 – rayshe’a  
> 6 – resol  
> 7 – e’tad  
> 8 – sh’ehn  
> 9 – she’cu  
> 10 – ta’raysh


	7. In the Belly of the Braal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Further exploration of the ship reveals new surprises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ni su'cuy! I've been working on this chapter for approximately forever and finally kicked myself in the shebs to get it done now.

As the lift doors whooshed open and the trio led him out into a quiet hallway, the gloss on the bulkheads dulled with age, he found himself still thinking about the kid he'd handed to the other children. _(Kark, what if someone catches up with us while I'm gone tonight and he gets hurt? What if they play too rough and he gets scared and does that- that thing and hurts one of them? I- I should go back and get him and we'll spend the night wherever they have for us. Yeah, I should-)_ he was pulled back to the present by a hand clapped against one pauldron. Kit had fallen into step beside him, and was looking at him with a questioning smile. 

"Hey _ner vod,_ if you and the _aliit_ have been on the run since before the Purge, what specs are you running on your bucket setup?" 

Ahead of them, Tristan gave an exasperated sigh, and their sister her short, sharp laugh. "Kai, I swear. _I'm_ the comms guy, and-"

"Hey, I'm just askin', and I don't have to be a slicer to be curious about systems."

"Our little fox kit doesn't just like the big guns you know, Tris," chimed in Zilla. 

"Like _Jai-buir_ says, we just play the dumb grunt for the clients, remember? Anyway, what _are_ you running in that thing?"

 _(What-? I never really thought there could be options.)_ But he was starting to realize there more options for many things than he'd assumed over the years. "Um, standard? I- I guess? The HUD we all had, back in Sundari. Night vision, heat sensing, the basics." What else was there? 

He must have said something strange, since his companions had all stopped and were staring at him. 

"In Sundari? Djarin, that was nearly thirty years ago now. You haven't had your systems updated since then?" The blonde man had finally joined in his brother's baffled curiosity.

With a gnawing chagrin, he remembered how easily they'd used helmet comms to hold private conversations and his own long-neglected system.

"I- there was the war, and then. . ." And then he'd been lucky to get the armor plates he'd worn for so long, back then. 

" _Vod,_ we've been tinkering and slicing and improving our setups for ages," Zilla jumped in, "we have parts of old Republic tech, and stuff re-purposed from Imp buckets to make what we use the best possible to give us whatever edge we can get on the job." 

"We're definitely not letting you leave without seeing what shiny new display patches we can set up in that thing for you." With another grin, Kit reached over to rap one gloved knuckle against his helmet. The younger man's easy camaraderie made him stay still and take the friendly contact, instead of recoiling, instead of pulling away as he did when most beings reached for his helmet. He'd only known these Mandos for a few hours, he realized as they continued down the passageway, but he was already more comfortable around them than he'd ever been around some of the members of his own covert. Was this what they should have been, all along? What it looked like to grow up in a Mandalorian family, and not constantly running and hiding, scrabbling just to survive? Despite what Jai had told him, seeing these warriors casually carrying their helmets as they laughed and joked around him was still strange; to see their faces above the familiar shapes of their well-worn and cared for armor plates just seemed _wrong_ , but he was willing to give them a chance, since they'd welcomed him in. "I- um. Thank you." 

"Oh, Kit will have the time of his life getting to play with war-era tech from Sundari," Tristan deadpanned. "A couple of our older brothers might even want in, when they hear about it." 

_(More siblings? The ones who were adopted?)_ He wanted to meet these brothers who were not foundlings, but family.

"Hey Z, do we have time still to show our friend the rest of the facilities on our way while we're down here?"

The woman glanced over at her brother, and then down as she tapped something on one vambrace and a chrono flashed up on the screen. "I'd say we do, if it's just a detour through. C'mon." She jerked her head towards another door on their right that slid open as they approached, and she led them through. "There won't be anyone down here right now, since they're all either cleaning up and dressing for the feast now, where we should be, checking on preparations, or out on patrol tonight."

"Feast night patrols are all voluntary," added Kit, "more _vode_ who aren't too keen on gatherings, or just don't mind missing the festivities. They're on a staggered schedule, so we'll probably see a few of them as they come back later." 

The lights above them flickered on in a ripple across the room as they entered, illuminating a long, open space ringed with padded padded mats on the floor.

"This is the training room for everything from hand-to hand to, well, whatever's not a ranged weapon. That's what the range through there is for." Tristan jerked one thumb at another door on the right side of the gym. "Blasters, slugthrowers, a handful of Verps, we even have some bowcasters and a handful of longbows."

"Never know when you'll be stuck somewhere without a blaster, or where you can't get more cartridges and have to make do with what's around!"

"Like you'd ever be caught without a long arm on you on a job, Kai'ika." The lights reflected off the loose strands of Zilla's hair as she tossed her head in another short laugh. 

_"Ne'johaa!"_

"C'mon, there's a reason you're our artillery specialist, _vod'ika"_

 _"_ Don't you start in also, Tris."

A row of punching bags and what looked like practice dummies were ranged along one corner, and he stared in awe at the row of cases lining the wall beyond the door that were filled with more weapons, from wooden training staffs to swords to a narrow case of what looked like long, thin, metallic skewers the length of his hand with small, rounded heads. He stopped to stare as they passed by, and the other two men, lost in their brotherly teasing, continued on a few paces without him as he tried to identify exactly what kind of weapon the slim objects were. 

"Hey, see something- ah, those." A moment later, Zilla had rejoined him. "Like our training collection?"

"I- what are those for?"

"Those," she smirked up at him, eyes bright as a bird's, "are an unusual concealed weapon we practice with here, since they could be the one thing no one thinks to take if things start to go sideways while we're undercover."

 _(Undercover?)_ He pulled his gaze away from the objects to meet hers. 

"They're also one of the reasons I keep this," she ran her fingers through her hair, shoving the tendrils back away from her face, "as long as I do. They're hardened durasteel hairpins, _ner'vod._ For pinning up hair. Or, in a pinch, someone's hand, to a table." Her smirk had turned razor sharp.

"But. . . 'undercover'?"

"You think we're always wearing our full _besbe_ when we're on a job?" Tristan had also returned, with Kit at his shoulder. "Some of the stuff we take, it's more effective and safer for us to _not_ look like the walking arsenals folks think of when they see a _Mando'ad_."

"Take off your armor? But to be a Mandalorian-"

"Hey, remember what Jai'bu said about our buckets?"

"Fox kit, it's all still new for him, _suvarir?_ But he's right," Zilla turned back from her brothers. " _Aruetyc_ clothes can be a better defense in some situations, and even give us an advantage on people who don't expect someone without a full kit on to still be armed to the teeth." Slinging one arm over his shoulders- and, he realized, pulling his thoughts away from all the implications that _these Mandalorians did jobs without their armor_ as he noticed suddenly how easily she reached across to his opposite pauldron and how tall she was - she steered him away from the rack of pins, catching Kit's arm as she led him along the room towards another door, Tristan falling into step behind them. "We'll tell you all about some of the wild missions and fights we've had, and you can tell us more about your travels later, but we need to get a move on here." The door slid open ahead of them, and he found himself steered through into another hallway beyond it. 

"That's the lower armory ahead," Tristan called as they passed another door. 

"Lower?"

"Yeah, you think we'd only have one in a place this size?" Kit had pulled his arm free from his sister's grip and was walking a pace ahead of them. "There's the one down here on the Ops deck, and another one up by command."

"And on the left there is the tech depot-"

"Is that what we're calling it now, Ki'ika?"

'Hey, it's shorter than 'secondary logistics and communication development center'. It's where we do the research and development on our comms and systems for field work," Kit gestured at the door as they passed, "and that'll be where you'll get whatever antiques you've got running in your bucket updated tomorrow." 

The next door on the right, Tristan pointed out, was the refresher for the ops deck and showers for the gym. 

"Is that where-"

"Where we're headed? Nah, _ner'vod_ , we've got something better than that tonight." The arm still across his shoulders tightened slightly, and he found himself escorted through another door into what Kit announced was the duty wardroom. He stared around at the wall of displays and charts in awe as they whisked him through. "This is where we get assignment and patrol briefings, strategy meetings, etc."

"Normally there's someone on duty down here also, as well as the main bridge crew who keep an eye on comms and the patrols checking in."

"Of course, tonight's a _special_ night, so we're down to a minimum of ops crew, just security patrols keeping everything under control-"

"-so that all of us _dinise_ can spend the afternoon wrestling in a field-" Kit interrupted his sister.

"-but you'll probably get to see how busy this place usually is, while you're here."

They escorted him back out the other door, and he realized they were back in the the first hallway from before, and traveling in the direction they'd been taking him originally. 

"The forge and armory are on the other side of this deck," Zilla continued, "but we've reinforced the bulkheads and decks around the munitions processing over time."

"That seems. . ." ( _Kriff, this place truly is a fortress now)_ "Do you forge Beskar here, also?"

Beside him, Tristan gave a low chuckle. "Forge? When we need it. You'll get the full stories later, but we have sets of _Beskar'gam_ that have been handed down through families that get remade for each generation-"

"-Plus as much of the raw iron as they could grab from Keldabe before-"

"Hey Kit, you picked a hell of a time to start getting talkative, yeah? Let's leave the storytelling to Jai'bu and the ceremonies later, ok?" Zilla reached up with her free arm to ruffle the taller man's hair. "Anyway, we've got other stuff to think about right now."

They'd reached another door that hissed open at Tristan's touch of a pad, revealing yet another carved stone space, but this time the smaller cave held a set of broad, shallow steps carved into the rock leading downwards. As his companions descended with him, he could feel the air seeping into his helmet growing more humid, and carrying the heavy scent of minerals and. . . something else. 

Releasing his shoulders finally, Zilla strode ahead down the stairs, leading the way into a wide, low room that, he guessed, had been a smaller cave originally, and expanded on over time. "You're about to experience one of the other little luxuries we've found here and expanded on, you lucky man," she called over her shoulder before turning back to drop her helmet on a shelf, he realized an instant later, was full of other Mandalorian helmets, some he thought he recognized from the field earlier. He watched as the other two men followed her lead before following her to the lockers. He watched as they each found an empty one and started stripping off pieces of gear and setting them carefully inside. 

"Our family chose this hill to build the fort into, and then found the hot springs deep inside the mountain later on." She was unclipping the kama from her waist as Kit unhooked his cape, then leaned down to unfasten armored boots. "We run the forges off the geothermal energy, as much as the ship's reactors these days, but the springs down here are always a welcome change after using the sani-showers onboard a ship-"

"Or having to wash where and when we can while we're off working," Tristan added, easing off his flak vest, the plates of armor still attached. C'mon, find an empty locker - check the color on the readout above the handle first - and stow your _besbe_ for a time while you get clean."

 _(Hot springs? I- do they expect me to strip here?)_ While the idea of a hot bath was appealing and it was a rare occurrence he was unwilling to pass up, did they expect him to strip right here? He was among other Mandalorians, in their heavily fortified home, but it still felt. . . wrong. Instead, he approached the dim passage leading from a far back corner of the rooms, and the soft splashing of water and mixed voices talking and laughing echoed up along the tiled hallway that curved out of sight ahead. With the vents on his helmet open, he could feel the air growing warmer and more humid as he strode down the curved passage, ignoring his companions calling out behind him. Rounding the corner, the room beyond opened up in front of him, and he yet again found himself stunned by the wonders of the fort. Another long, low cave stretched out away from the tiled hallway, vaulted columns and arches adding to the natural formation of the stone ceiling that arced over the four pools that were cut into the stone floor, illuminated by the lights set into the pillars of stone. The pools were people he thought he recognized from the ship's hanger, when they'd removed their helmets and he thought the day couldn't get any stranger. Now, through the veils of steam coming off the water, he could see that all the laughing, chatting bathers were entirely nude. _(What the hells? I- I knew we were different, but even this is so-)_

The dark water that, even through his helmet, had a heavy mineral scent, lapped over the pool's dressed stone edge near his boots, and he looked down to see Galen's dark hair dripping wet as the younger man swam up, grinning at him. "Hey _ner vod_ , I see you and the other slowpokes finally made it down here! Now _iviin'yc,_ go hang up that _besbe_ so you can join us!" Off to one side, a knot of chatting bathers broke apart as Iris swam up to join then, the water swirling around her shoulders. "Hey _ori'vod,_ why's our new friend still kitted up? Didn't _ba'vodu_ Jai give him the all-clear about this place?" _(Who is she-_ ) then, turning, he saw that Tristan had followed him down the hallway, still in his boots and the upper half of his flight suit tied loosely around his waist, hands propped just over the bunched up fabric. In the low light a mass of scarring across the shorter man's ribs caught his eye for a moment before Tristan strode past him, leaning down to splash water at his cousins. " _Shev'lar_ you two. Our new friend's been on solo jobs for a good long while now, and he's not all too familiar with us yet." A burst of laughter behind them cut off any reply, and as the sound of running feet approached along the tiles, Tristan straightened, a small, pained smile on his face. "Hey _ner vod,_ you'd best be standing to one side just about-" before he could finish, two running figures sped past them, red hair flying as Zilla and Kit leapt into the pool, splashing the other nearby Mandalorians. Zilla surfaced, shaking water from her hair, as Kit began to swim around them. Grinning, Tristan glanced back over his shoulder at him. "This is one of the few spots where we really get to let our guards down, it's so far under the rest of the ship that it's a fair bet we're safe down here," he shrugged. "But c'mon, Zil' wanted me to show you what else we've got down here." With a gesture to follow, he was led along the edge of the room towards another archway.

"You all just. . ." He suddenly felt too exposed, even with all his kit still on. "Not wearing your helmets around family, not when you're somewhere safe, I can understand. But why. . ?" 

"Bathing together?" Tristan's reply sounded amused. "When you're stuck on a ship with your squad for weeks at a time with limited 'fresher space, there's no room for bein' shy, same goes for long missions. If we're outdoors on a campaign, it's either wash in turns in a stream while the others stand guard or cleaning up in the tent together. We've all grown up training together and then going on jobs mostly as squads, so uh, we're all used to close quarters and don't get too bothered by what's under each other's armor anymore, _suvarir?"_

_('suvarir' - understand. Ok, I remember at least that much of our tongue now)_ Yeah, yeah that makes sense. My- my people, we've been in hiding since the war, mostly, and don't usually work in teams. I'm more used to working alone these days." He didn't mention the past, about his team from before when he'd just worked with people he barely could stand, and left behind as soon as he could, or about his new friends he'd left behind to care for the child. f

"Hey, if you're not ready to join us yet, I get it. Trust takes time, more so for our people." 

"So if I'm not going to. . ." he gestured broadly at the room. "What's through there?" They'd reached the opposite end of the room and the arched doorway. 

"You're not the first Mando'ad who's been on their own too long and wants quiet and privacy away from us strill pups," he looked back with a bemused grin. "There are some private rooms through here where you can get clean." 

Through the doorway was a short corridor, and Tristan showed him through one of the doors into a small anteroom- _(it's just a small version of the room with the storage lockers)_ he realized, - pointed out the racks for his plates and helmet - "it's safe for the systems inside, but it'll clean 'em off also" - and showed him another compartment for clothes. "Just stick your _kute,_ your base suit in here, and tell the system to duplicate you a new one for tonight. You can choose to have the old one recycled and remade, or just cleaned. If you want it back, we pick up gear and kit from the quartermaster's department, and one of us will show you there after tonight." Then, after pointing out the rest of the amenities of the bathing area through the next door, the shorter man left, leaving him alone. 

With the kid gone and, he hoped, peacefully playing with other Mando children, it was the first time he'd been truly alone in weeks. There was a locking pad on the inside of the door, he saw, and crossed the few steps to key it shut. As the mechanism softly beeped a confirmation over the hiss and click of the door seal securing, he finally allowed himself to relax and breathe, the weariness from the long hike into the mountains from the seaside port just that long-ago morning, then the play-fighting in the field and gradually realizing what he'd been starved of for so long, not only of the closeness of a family and team - but what the old commander had told him of their people, of his people - all the adrenaline and stress was finally catching up with him. _(last person I trusted to have my back like that was Cara, and she's. . . )_ Cara had been a good fighter and friend, but it was different having others in the same armor he wore around him again. These were Mandalorians for sure, but a people who'd weathered the storms of war and empire and come through with more of their culture and family ties intact than any others he'd met since he'd first put on the helmet as a kid. They were finally safe, safer than he'd been in a long time. Easing his helmet off with hands that were beginning to shake from the long day _(kriff, I haven't eaten since this morning, and I'm not healed up enough yet),_ he gently set it on the stand the other man had pointed out for just that purpose, finally able to shake his sweat-matted hair loose. _(What the hell am I even doing here? I- this morning I was just hoping for a bunk and a meal for myself and the kid, and some credits to keep the ship flying. This isn't just another troop of fleeing survivors though, this is a family.)_ Family, how long it had been since he'd known one of those, save the few rare times like the widow on Sorgan. She'd wanted him to stay, but to stay. . . well, she'd wanted him to put away the Beskar and stay with her as a farmer, and as tempting as the chance for peace and friendship had been, the kid needed him and there was too much danger to leave the life, if he'd even been able to. He didn't belong with the farmers, staying in one place their whole lives and barely able to defend their own land, but did he belong here with this family any more? _(Several clans, , several families. The two in blue and gold were from a different clan, but said they're the others' cousins. I'll have to get just how many clans they have here while they're eating.)_

  
Still putting aside the problem of how he'd eat with them until later, he unclipped his cape, followed by his plates of Beskar, setting them on their own racks as well. As he sat on the low bench in the middle of the space, all his old injuries, as well as new aches from that day's activity complained at once and he bit back a groan at the pain in his side, bending to unfasten his greaves and boots. The steam in the air promised hot water in the next room, and he sped up undoing buckles and clips holding his gear together, tugging off his gloves and gauntlets and practically tossing them onto the armor rack and clothes cleaner. His vest with the precious plates and their mounting structure was hauled off and deposited on a stand as well. He paused when he was down to his flight suit, it was the most exposed he'd been in a strange environment in many years, but a glance at the locked door and a fresh complaint from healing bones had him stripping out of the heavy, padded garment also. Folding and slipping it into the drawer, he chose to have it just cleaned, remembering what Tristan had told him about getting it back la _te_ r _. (Not going to leave anything behind, when I've got few enough extra clothes as it is.)_ The replacement copy he chose from the menu was called "formal dress", and he wondered aloud what that looked like, but it seemed appropriate for whatever feast he was to be a guest for. All his kit stowed and weapons laid out on their own racks- the sheer storage space designated for sidearms and blades and separate compartments for ammunition and ordnance that the designer of this place expected bathers to still be carrying showed the Mandalorian spirit and expectation behind even this private, peaceful room - he pushed aside the curtain covering the passage across from the door, entering the steaming air beyond it.

_How the kriff has this di'kut not updated his display system since before the Purge? Sure we Mando'ade pride ourselves on doing more with less, but improving and changing and moving forward is what we're taught is at the core of who we are as a people, and what were they teaching in Sundari that has you stuck in the past, ner'vod? Kih'parjai, once he's talked to the ori'vode or Sa'buir we'll have the story from him, I'm sure, and our lost vod will get a taste of what old Mandalore was like tonight!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another one that ended up wayyyyy longer than I expected, so Din has to wait until the next chapter to actually see what all the buzz over the feast is about! And since I had to divide one long one in two again to get this chapter, it's already in the works and probably won't take another three months to finish! 
> 
> Mando'a:  
> Besbe - slang for full kit  
> suvarir - understand  
> Aruetyc - lit. traitor, also outsider/non-Mandalorian  
> dinise - lunatics  
> ori'vod - older sibling  
> shev'lar - to be quiet  
> Kih'parjai - No problem. Don't mention it. (Lit: small victory)
> 
> I wasn't sure about giving them mixed bathing, even though it makes sense for a people who put more meaning on actions and their fighting ability than physical appearance under the armor, but after a day at the local clothes-optional beach in June (hey, everyone social-distances at a nudist beach anyway), it definitely felt like a natural thing for them to have. And the baths themselves function like Roman baths, with the four different pools, and look something like the Romans baths in Evora, Portugal https://www.visitevora.net/en/roman-baths-evora-spa/

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the traditional Gaelic song Chi Mi Na Morbheanna, which will make an appearance in a few chapters. 
> 
> Mando'a translations:  
> Olarom- welcome  
> Jatne vod - sir  
> ori'vor'e - thanks a lot  
> ad'ika - little one  
> Su cuy'gar. - Hello (lit. "You're still alive)  
> Me'vaar ti gar? - How are you?  
> Haar'chak - Damn it!  
> di'kut - idiot  
> beskar'gam - armor  
> Beroya - bounty hunter
> 
> Most of my Mando'a taken from the dictionary at http://mandoa.org/


End file.
